


Sacred Monsters

by melmac



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Castrati, Dark Will Graham, Eighteenth Century Italy, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, MentionofFarinelli, Murder, OperaSinger!Will, OperaTeacher!Hannibal, Operas, Slighty Underage Romance, Slow Burn, eventual gore, will earn its rating eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-01-22 02:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12471652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melmac/pseuds/melmac
Summary: In 18th Century Italy, the castrati singers were revered for their angelic, unearthly voices, and ridiculed for never reaching true manhood. Many boys were sacrificed for the riches a life in church and opera promised, a fate unheard of for a Patrician's son. Little Gugli had a voice only dreamed about, but knew his fate belonged with his father's plans. A jealous older brother and an untimely death, changed his fate forever. Now it was up to a foreign Maestro Lecter to show your Gugli he was not a monster but a true gift, and capable of experiencing true love and perhaps revenge.Inspired by Anne Rice's Cry to Heaven, with a Hannibal twist :)





	1. Fiesole

**Author's Note:**

> Its my birthday and I always like to start something new as tradition on the day. I was holding off on posting this, since its uncharted territory and wasn't sure how it'd be received (I cannot find a castrati story in this fandom anywhere so far) But, I'm taking a leap of faith. Please feel free to tell me I'm crazy or the true monster in the comments, or if maybe I've stumbled on to something good?

Sacred Monsters

(Gugliemo is pronounced “Willemo” / Gugli is pronounced “Willy”)

 

Most of the town of Fiesole, Italy remembers the first time they heard young Guglielmo sing. Every Sunday without fail, little Gugli, as he was known to his family, would sit dutifully on his mother’s lap. During the chants, and sermon of Father Chiltone, and even the procession of the Grand Duchy, the governing council of Florence; which his Father headed, Gugli nearly fell asleep in her arms. But, as soon as Deacon Pazzi plucked the first note of the harpsichord and the choir would stand in formation; he would come alive with a wide grin, excitedly reaching towards the choir, as if he could capture the magical sounds with his hands. His mother always tightened her grip, but smiled sweetly at her adorable child, delighted in his enthusiasm.

On this day, his mother’s grip somehow faltered, and Gugli saw his chance. He ran as fast as he could on tiny legs, nearly tripping over his frock. He didn’t stop until he stood triumphantly in front of the choir. The choir immediately ceased singing, and dissolved into joyous laughter at their new energetic companion. Confused, as to why the music stopped, he frowned at the choir and the Deacon, who’d stopped his harpsichord; waving his hands, imploring them to continue. This bought more laughter from the congregation as his mother and nurses stood to retrieve him.  But Gugli was undeterred. Perhaps they’d forgotten the song? He opened his mouth and sung the last few lines he’d heard, hoping to remind them so they would sing again. The laughter died quickly and turned to silent gasps, as a sound as beautiful as the church bells themselves emanated from his small form.

The silence was finally broken with a shout of “Bravissimo!” from the choral director, who immediately swept the boy up into his arms, amazed at how such depth could come from the throat of a child barely four. Father Chiltone beamed at him, then directed his attention to his mother.

“Signora Graeme! You have been hiding a treasure!”

There were murmurs of agreement all around, and the Father indicated the choir should resume their positions. The choir director returned Gugli to his mother’s arms, and leaned in to tell her “Please Signora, see me after service.”

Signora Graeme hugged her boy close, showering him with kisses as he squealed with delight. All those years she’d thought herself and her family cursed until this beautiful child entered their lives, filling every moment with pure light. She kissed his dark curls, and settled him on her lap as the choir began to sing again, listening to the soft, lilting sound as he quietly sang along.

The older boy sitting solemnly to her left went ignored as always. She barely spared a glance for him; focusing all her attention on what she often told people was ‘the love of her life.’ Francis could only sit dutifully as the world seemed to conspire to give this precocious brat everything, leaving him with nothing—not even the warm embrace of his own mother.

* * *

 

_Seven years later_

Gugli raced down the hill of his family’s estate, ignoring the exasperated tutor behind him imploring him to “please slow down!” He was late, but he was always late and it seemed no amount of lashes on the back of his hand could ever make him remember the time. A stable-hand stood waiting at the bottom of the hill, holding the reigns of his horse. He quickly mounted it, wishing he didn’t have to wait for the slow old eunuch, so maybe he could avoid the ire of Signore Gideon.

“James! It’s not your hands he will whip if I’m late! He promised to make me drop my breeches in front of the entire choir next time!”

James finally caught up to his young charge, not amused by the use of his Christian name. “He’ll do no such thing. Your father is a member of the Grand Duchy Council and would have his job if he dared....and its Signore.”

Gugli rolled his eyes as his tutor and former nurse settled in behind him on the saddle. “Father wouldn’t have his job if he agreed with him.”

“Then I suggest you learn to be on time. You’ve only yourself to blame.”

James kicked the horse into a gallop towards the center of town where the choir practiced every evening at the Cathedral San Romolo.  Gugli had been singing in the choir since the age of five, though he’d been allowed to watch them practice since the day he defied his mother and sang in front of the whole congregation. He couldn’t imagine being so bold now; he’d never been anything but obedient away from home. At home was another matter, but he wouldn’t dare embarrass his family in front of the town.

They were among a handful of noble families with direct ties to the Grand Duchy of Florence and its governing council. Most of the Council lived in the villas dotting the hillside high above town, with a sprawling view of Florence just to the east. Gugli could see the great orange dome of the Duomo from his rooms.  His father served on the Duke’s council, and there’d been a Graeme on the council for over a century dating back to Austria. His mother said the Austrian ancestry was where his blue eyes and fair skin came from, but the dark curls and tendency to blush came directly from her. She always said this with a smile as she tousled his hair and kissed his cheeks, and habit he often tried to discourage as he neared his twelfth birthday. True he passed her shoulder now, but his face was still that of a cherub—a fact she teased him with often. Francis always scowled when she teased him, but then Francis always scowled. He wished he knew what would make his brother happy, but even James told him, someone with his affliction from such a prominent family would never truly be happy.

As they neared the entrance to the Cathedral, Gugli put all thoughts of his brother out of his head. The same excitement he felt drumming in his chest never wavered, even though he visited almost daily to practice. It wasn’t just the singing, though he loved to sing more than anything. It was the only place he had the chance to converse with boys his own age. Most of his day was taken up with tutors and his mother, and the ever-present James. He rarely saw his father except during the evening meal, where he’d recount his day and his lessons. His father seemed proud of his accomplishments in the choir, but he worried he wouldn’t be allowed to study at the Conservatorio in Naples once he came of age. Instructors were already attending their rehearsals, looking for boys who were nearing the age of twelve to accept.  He knew at most he’d have two more years before his voice changed, but he could still learn an instrument, or composition, even if such skills had no use on the Council as his father reminded him often.

He rushed ahead of James as soon as the horse came to a stop, wondering for the hundredth time why he should be expected to be on the council when his brother was ten years his senior and already working in Florence.

“Gugli, if you don’t wait for me, I’ll bend you over my knee, myself. I doubt your father would object at all.”

Gugli stopped at the entrance to allow James to catch up, shooting him a pointed look, as they walked into the Cathedral together for his lessons.

**

Gugli ran out of the Cathedral, bursting with excitement and still hadn’t calmed down as James tried to steady his limbs enough to get him ready for bed.

“The Duomo! I can’t believe I’m actually going to sing in the Duomo! I’ve only even been there once!”

James tried to pull his shirt over his head amidst all the writhing and chatter. “Yes, it is an incredible honor, and if you don’t hold still, your bath will be cold by the time I get you in it, and I will not have Mateo bring you fresh hot water.”

Gugli tried to steady his limbs and control his excitement, but it was no use. He gazed at the Duomo every morning from his bed, and it seemed impossible he was going to sing his first complete solo under its beauty. He didn’t let the looks of pure envy from the other boys dampen his excitement when Signore announced they were to perform for the Duke’s son’s baptism and that Gugli would have the honor of singing the only solo after the baptism was performed. He remembered when his Father had taken him there in celebration of the first time he was allowed breeches on his eighth birthday. He could still imagine all the incredible art and dizzying array of colors that covered every surface of its walls. His father had let him explore the grand hall on his own, taken with how enthralled he seemed with its beauty. And now, boring old James had the nerve to expect him to be calm at the notion of his own voice filling that very hall.

Once completely disrobed, James wrapped him in a warm bath cloak and steered him towards the bath chamber, where a steaming bath awaited him. He climbed into the tub, inhaling the soothing scents of lavender and oils, trying his best to relax, but his brain refused to turn off.

“Do you think Father will come?”

James pushed the boy’s head back to wet his unruly curls. “Of course, your father will be there, he is cousin to the Duke, and will be named Godfather of the young Marquees.”

“And mother…?”

“Yes, your mother. Please hold still, you have your Latin lessons just after breakfast and you need to be in bed soon.”

Gugli paused, frowning slightly. “What about Francis?”

James paused in his scrubbing, but nodded. “Of course, he is a member of this family.”

Gugli grew quiet after that, wondering if James could answer why Francis seemed to be treated like an outcast, even by their mother.

“James? Why does…”

His mother chose that moment to burst into his bath chamber, beaming at her son. “My sweet boy! I just heard!”

Gugli immediately brought his knees up in a vain attempt to cover himself. “Mother! I’m not a baby any more, you shouldn’t be in here!”

His mother laughed and laid a kiss on his wet head. “Nonsense, you’ll always be a baby to me. But I don’t wish to embarrass you any further, your cheeks are positively inflamed!”

She laughed and laid another kiss to his flushed cheeks, and headed towards the door. “I will come kiss you goodnight before I retire. She blew him another kiss from the door.”

James smiled, because the intrusion finally dampened his mood. “Now quickly so you will be dry in time for bed.”

 

* * *

 

The morning sun streamed through the tall stained glass window creating a beautiful pattern across the floor. It was a perfect spring day, and the church pews were full of invited guests of the Duke and Duchess, along with other dignitaries. Gugli failed to understand before entering the cathedral how very important this occasion was, but seeing everyone sitting there with austere grace in their finest silks and velvets made him tremble with nervousness. His family sat in the front pew, next to Father Chiltone, the Bishop and a rather severe looking man with hair the color of wet straw and dark eyes. He didn’t look Italian at all, and Gugli wondered if he was some distant relative of the Duchess from Austria. The first swell of the organ sounded, pulling him out of his thoughts, and he swallowed thickly trying to quell the nerves that threatened to overtake him. A dampness began to seep beneath the collar of his white cassock as he took a deep breath, training his eyes only on Maestro Gideon, and the wave of the baton signaling the first notes of the song.

As he began the chosen song, _Faure’s Pie Jesu_ , the entire church fell silent. His voice lilted and soared through the halls with unwavering clarity, moving everyone to tears. His mother was beside herself with tearful joy, and his father, ever stoic, but kind, watched him with rapt attention. But his gaze was drawn to the strange man with the sharp features sitting beside Father Chiltone. His face betrayed no emotion except for the glistening tears in the corner of his eyes that remained trained on Gugli with an unblinking intensity.

This Maestro had come all the way from Naples to hear the wonder the choir director had written him about. Usually, such words of fancy were nothing but an exaggeration, but for once they rang true. Never had he heard anything so beautiful; not even out of the mouths of Farenelli or Pacchierotti, the most famous singers of their time. People often spoke of angels regarding children’s voices, but this was the first time he’d heard anything this close to divinity. It helped that he was also a beautiful child; thick dark curls and pale flushed skin, with clear blue eyes, a rarity in these parts. But he had the healthy glow of a well-kept child, which meant that incredible gift would soon be lost. He abhorred the practice to preserve such voices, but it did give hope and possible prosperity to many desperate families. He watched as the boy went to greet what must be his parents, and The Maestro knew for certain this boy would not have a career in music. He’d no doubt join his Father as soon as he was of age in politics and take the rightful place of a Patrician’s son.

**

Gugli felt like his heart would burst out of his chest. He felt completely euphoric, surrounded by just his voice and the music. The audience didn’t even matter, for him they didn’t exist as he lost himself entirely in the music. He couldn’t imagine anything else in his life being that fulfilling.

That night as James tucked him into bed, he felt wonderfully exhausted, and for the first time in a long time, James gave him a kiss on his forehead.

“Bravo, my little prince, you made us all so proud.” He smoothed his hair back off his forehead. “But please calm down, you’re still warm from all the excitement.”

He left a small candle alight in the window as he did every night and quietly left Gugli to dreams of commanding the royal family in the best opera houses of Italy.

That was the last time Gugli remembered ever feeling joy.

* * *

_Three Years Later_

Gugli rose early just before the first rays of sun touched the Neapolitan sky as he had every morning for the past three years.  His status and temperament afforded him the luxury of one of the few private rooms in the conservatory. It set nestled under the gabled roof of the buildings top floor, away from all the noise of the younger boys below. Given his privacy he always slept completely in the nude if the weather allowed, even though he hated his body. He walked past the full-length mirror towards the water basin, avoiding it as always. He didn’t need the sight of his own reflection to tell him he was long, thin and unremarkable.

He washed quickly, slipped his black tunic over his head, then pulled on his black tights and breeches, saving the sash that went around his waist for last. The bold red of its satin reminded him of a bloody gash, which on some level felt appropriate. Wasn’t red the color of blood? And wasn’t the fact that he was cut, bled and somehow survived the very reason he was there? All the boys in his group wore red sashes, while the other boys all wore white. Maybe it was to symbolize their purity and wholeness, unlike the abomination of himself and the others like him. Still they were treated far better; always given the best rooms, the best food and the warmest blankets when Naples’ air chilled every winter. Gugli was the undisputable best among them, but every morning when he rose, he still felt like a monster.

**

There is a barely contained excitement amongst the pupils in chapel that morning. Though they are dutifully quiet with heads down, saying their morning prayers softly; Gugli notices the quick lifts of heads to glance at the chapel doors to see if their impending visitor had yet arrived.

They were expecting the famous Maestro Lecter from Vienna, where all the best composers of the day resided. The maestro had launched the careers of many of the most famous singers currently selling out opera halls all over Italy and even France. He’d graciously taken a temporary teaching position in the hopes of finding the next great _Farinelli_ and training him. He only committed to taking on four vocal, and a handful of composition pupils. If one proved truly promising, they’d get more extensive lessons at his private residence.

Only thirty students or _fugluioli*_ of age currently resided at the Conservatorio di Santa Maria di Napoli, and out of them only seven bore the red sashes of their status. The rest were boys of various ages, studying instruments, composition and singing. Of course, most expected the coveted vocal positions to go to the red-sashed castrati students, as they were pampered and coddled since they kept the school financially afloat with the abundance of coin they brought in from their performances. But hope is always present in youth, so even the older tenors hoped for a shot.

Gugli rarely considered his future; he only existed one day to the next, so he had little thought for this maestro everyone was so excited about. If he wanted him as a pupil, he’d have little choice but to accept. There would be little joy in his acceptance, but he’d study as told, his passion for his singing dying three years earlier when his life was irrevocably altered by the vicious deeds of his brother.

After morning prayers, they were rushed through breakfast then ushered out into the Great Hall—a massive room reserved only for special occasions, and told to line up by status. Maestro Pazzo silenced the boys and proceeded to introduce their newest edition to the school. Gugli, standing at the front with four other boys, recognized him immediately, though it had been several years since he’d laid eyes on the sharp-featured man with hair the color of wet straw.

**

Maestro Lecter immediately sees who he has come for, though he was just a boy when he saw him last.  He wasn’t much more than a boy now, only his height betrayed his age. He wondered if he’d always have the angelic appearance of youth as many castrati did; suspended eternally between adolescence and adulthood, never reaching either end. It shocked the maestro greatly when he visited one of the school’s recitals in the hopes of finding a new pupil, and heard the voice he assumed he’d never hear again.  It's been more than three years since he last saw him, and he was nearing twelve then. There was only one way such voices were preserved, and he wondered what tragedy had befallen him. He doubted it’d be carried out with his father’s approval—perhaps his father died and left the family no choice. Whatever the reason, Maestro Lecter knew who would become his new prodigy as soon as he became old enough for rigorous training.  

So now here he was, ready to claim his bel canto. Maestro Lecter gave a short speech of introduction, being a man only a few well-chosen words, then handed over the proceedings to the school’s head master. Each boy was to sing a short piece acapella, and the Maestro would make his decision. The Maestro listened politely as each boy sang, his stoic face never betraying any true feelings, waiting patiently for the only voice he cared to hear. Finally, Gugli stepped forward, and with barely a breath beautiful, crisp notes flowed from his mouth; every note perfect, every treble held with perfection. His voice had matured, and he could see he had more control now, but Maestro knew there was still more work to be done. The Gugli he saw before him was all technical, and lacked the emotion and passion he saw the first time. At first he assumed it was nerves, but looking closely at his dispassionate face, he saw a pain and bitterness that seemed nested into his very soul. Perhaps training this boy would not be as easy as he thought.

 

**

 

 

 


	2. Conservatorio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter, but I want to start them working together in the next chapter, and this was a good place to stop.  
> Thanks to everyone who's commented and kudo'd. I'm still not sure how this will be overall received, but my goal is to update weekly.

They were given the news just before the evening meal. Maestro Lecter made his decision quickly, choosing three castrati students, to train in vocals, and two other students to study both harpsichord and composition. It was his intent to train his vocal students to sing original compositions and not rely so heavily on the classics. One student would receive private lessons in all three concentrations. It came as little surprise who that student would be. When Maestro Pazzo called Gugli to the front and announced the news, there were a few groans among the boys behind their plastered smiles, and Gugli knew this new development would win him no favors. Not that he cared. Most of the boys ignored him, and he preferred it that way. The only one who ever dared try and be friendly was an older boy, named Peter. Peter studied composition exclusively now, even though his sash remained red. His plight was one of the greatest fears of all young castrati—that their enormous sacrifice had been in haste, and ultimately in vain. As their young bodies tried to accomplish the feat they were no longer equipped to manage, a few unlucky boys lost what little talent they possessed and become nothing more than a simple eunuch, destined for a life of ridicule and no chance of glory. 

Gulgi often wondered if that’s what happened to his old caretaker James—but he rarely thought of him anymore. The pain was too great. He accepted the news graciously, with barely a change in expression, as they were sent off to their evening meal.  Peter joined him as he often did, but Gugli had little to share this evening. His mind kept drifting back to Maestro Lecter and how odd that he should be the one figure from his past to be a part of his future. Maybe there was something significant in it, or maybe it simply meant his dreadful fate had been sealed long ago. 

** 

Hannibal spoke to Maestro Pazzo at great length after all the students retired to their rooms for the night. After hearing a truncated story of how Gugli came to the Conservatorio, he decided that it would benefit them both if for at least the first few weeks he resided in the apartment on the top floor, reserved for visiting dignitaries. Given that Maestro Lector lived a few miles outside of the city center, Pazzo had the foresight to make sure the rooms were prepared in the event he decided to stay the night.

After they concluded their meeting and set a tentative schedule for the students, Hannibal retired to a quiet meal alone in his rooms. His thoughts never strayed far from young Gugli. Signore Pazzo seemed evasive about the circumstances surrounding his coming to them, explaining he only knew what the priest, Father Chiltone told him when they arranged for his stay.  The priest said Gugli was distraught over the idea of losing his precious gift, and his brother aided him in his plight to preserve it forever without the knowledge of their father. But it was clear to Hannibal that Pazzo didn’t entirely believe his story, and maybe he too understood the cause of whatever rendered Guigli so still and unexpressive now, lay in the truth.

 

**

_Searing white hot pain lanced through him, and strong arms held him down as a scream caught in his throat. Gugli could only tremble while his mind sought to help him escape the agony, that went deeper than the pain itself. A face with a twisted ugly mouth loomed over him, its features stretching and morphing into that of a red demon. Dark wings spread from its back, engulfing him, turning his world completely black._

Peter lay in his bed in the castrati dormitory below, listening intently for any disturbance from the room above them. Noticing how despondent Gugli appeared at supper, he worried he might succumb to one of his nightmares. When Gugli first arrived, the nightmares were frequent. Night after night he’d wake screaming, pulling away from an unseen villain, and it’d take Peter and their caretaker to calm him down. He was so small then, and so terrified. They’d placed him next to Peter in the dorm, since he was known as the gentlest among them, warning Peter that this boy would need ‘an extra hand.’ After a month of waking the other students up nightly, they’d moved Guigli to a private room upstairs. Peter thought it cruel to make him sleep alone, so he’d sneak out of his own bed to join him. Guigli never asked for him, but he never sent Peter away either. Eventually he became resigned to his solitude, and the nightly terrors stopped. Gugli lost whatever light was left in his eyes, and withdrew from everyone, though allowed for Peter’s company during their meals. Sadly, he now said very little, but Peter stayed just the same.

The look he noticed earlier was one he hadn’t seen in well over a year, so he thought it best to keep an ear out, since nightmares still plagued him, though infrequently. So far, he’d heard not even a whimper. Then the sound of footsteps creaking on the soft boards above, made him pause. Peter quickly rose, mindful to keep his steps light, and went into the hallway. He heard the door to Guigli’s room open and he cursed softly knowing what it meant. Lately, instead of nightmares, Guigli was given to wandering in his sleep. He never went far, but Peter worried he’d fall on the stairs, or hurt himself somehow. He usually managed to guide him back to bed without waking him, he hoped this time would be as successful.

When he reached the upstairs landing, he saw Gugli standing in front of the large dormer window. Peter blushed slightly at his state of undress, but thought it unwise to go back and fetch a blanket for him, fearing he would wake the other boys. He approached him cautiously and began speaking to him softly.

 

**

Whispers and soft footsteps outside his door woke Hannibal from a light sleep. He stilled near the door, trying to make out the voices. From the timber, they seemed to be students, who had no right to be out of bed at this hour. Sighing, he shrugged on his dressing gown and went to gently admonish the young ones. What he found when he opened his door was quite unexpected. There stood young Gugli completely nude; body silhouetted by the moonlight streaming through the large windows. He looked like a beautiful Caravaggio. He didn’t recognize the other boy, but guessed he was trying to help. Hannibal quietly cleared his throat, startling the boy, but not causing even a stir in his companion. Peter stood wide-eyed, apologies tumbling off his tongue, but Hannibal shushed him quickly, after realizing, the boy was asleep. He had one hand loosely on the window’s latch, and he wondered what nightmare he was trapped in that made him seek an exit. Hannibal placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder and told him to return to the dormitory and he would make sure Gugli was returned safely to his bed.

“Don’t wake him sir. I’ve heard its dangerous.” Peter whispered as he nervously walked back towards the stairs.

Hannibal nodded, losing his patience. “Yes…back to bed with you. No harm will come to him.”

He quickly returned to his rooms and produced an extra nightshirt. He slipped it over Gugli’s slim frame and cupped his face in his hands. Such a stunning boy, even without the aid of his startling blue eyes. He lightly stroked his cheek, that was wet with drying tears. He gently steered Gugli towards his room, and lay him back in his bed. Deciding it safer to watch over him, lest he attempt to sleepwalk again, Hannibal settled in the only chair in the room, watching curiously as Guigli slipped further into undisturbed sleep.

** 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Maestro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the lateness, I was doing Fannibal Fest and post-con exhaustion is real :) Older Guigli finally speaks and a working relationship begins.

Gugli woke a few hours later, to the early morning sun peeking its way through the heavy damask curtains. A strip of light illuminated the face of the man sitting in the chair near the foot of his bed. Guigli bolted upright— there should be no one in his room. He went to clutch the bed cloths around him, until he realized there was no need, as he was well covered by an over-sized night shirt.

Hannibal sat up and placed the book he’d been reading on the side table. He gave Guigli a small smile.

“Signore…?”

Hannibal broadened his smile. “I imagine you have many questions. Let me assure you, the answer is simple.”

Gugli sat against the headboard, a feeling of dread coming over him.

“You were found sleep walking, and your friend Peter was concerned for your safety. He tried to coax you back to your room, but I promised I’d deliver you safely to your bed, and sent him back to the dormitory.”

Gugli pulled gently on the shirt.

“Forgive me, I had to act quickly and thought it best to grab a shirt of mine to cover you.”

His cheeks beamed red with embarrassment. He cursed his tendency to sleep in the nude, clearly it was no longer safe to do so.

“There’s no need to feel embarrassed. It is nothing I haven’t seen before, and my immediate concern was to keep the night chill off you.”

It took him a moment to find his voice, and it came out far terser than he intended. He mostly wanted this man to remove himself from his room.

“I suppose then I should thank you signore. Please forgive me, I haven’t sleep-walked, as you call it, in a long time.”

Hannibal nodded, getting up from the chair to stand beside Guigli. He still looked a little disoriented. 

“There is nothing to forgive. If you’d like to sleep in a little longer, I can arrange it with Maestro Pazzo to have your breakfast brought up here. You still look very tired.”

That was the last thing he needed, the other students hated him enough as it was. “That won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t want to start our first day working together on such a bad foot. I’m fine…so if you wouldn’t mind, I’d very much like some privacy so I may get ready for chapel. Its five lashes if we’re late.”

Hannibal was slightly taken aback by his directness, but he moved towards the door as the young man asked. While his voice was still that of a child, his tone held no immaturity of one. He couldn’t help but be intrigued, if a little amused.

“As you wish dear boy. I will see you in the music room, promptly after the morning meal.” Hannibal left without another word, leaving Guigli to his angry and embarrassed thoughts.

He should have known—he’d been rattled as soon as he saw Maestro Lecter, and even more so when he sang for him. That day, a lifetime ago when he sang for him for the first time in Florence, came flooding back to him. How happy he’d been and how even his father had beamed with pride. He wished he could go back and tell that naïve boy that it would all fall apart very soon. That he would lose the person who loved him most in the world along with everything he knew, in only a few short weeks. It’s no wonder his night was plagued with nightmares. He didn’t remember leaving his room, but he didn’t doubt it happened. He would prefer that Maestro Lecter had been spared the monstrosity of his nude form. Though as he said, it was nothing he hadn’t seen before. He’d tutored many young castrati after all.

Gugli stood and yanked the shirt off, tossing it on the floor, and began his morning ritual to get ready for the day.

* * *

 

 

“We’ll begin with simple breathing exercises. You may think this is a silly place to start given your training, but I noticed when you sang for me yesterday, your breathing could be improved.”

Gugli narrowed his eyes slightly, but kept silent. Maestro Lecter instructed him to place one hand on his chest and the other just above his navel.

“Now, empty your lungs completely.” He circled Guigli, pausing only to adjust his hands to a better position. “Do you feel the tension left in your abdomen?” He tapped lightly on the hand placed just above his navel. Guigli nodded, waiting.

“Good, now release the tension, allowing the air to come in. Do you feel it?”

He nodded again.

“Good. Do that for me twenty times.”

Guigli opened his mouth to protest, and Maestro Lecter wrapped him lightly on his knuckles.

“I’m afraid I don’t allow negotiations in my lessons Gugliemo. You will do as I say without question, or you will find another teacher.”

He looked pointedly at Guigli until he nodded his understanding. Without another word; though the look in his eyes could strike down the sturdiest of men, he did as he was told until he grew light-headed.

They worked on breathing exercises for nearly two hours before he was finally allowed to do simple staccato exercises and three-note trills. Guigli regretfully admitted the trills came out stronger and more sustained after the breathing exercises. The mid-day meal bell sounded, and Hannibal said they should break.

“Gugliemo? Or do you prefer to be called Gugli? You did well. You still have much to learn to improve your technique, but you have a natural strength we can work with. We’ll meet back here after your meal and begin your viola lessons.”

That gave Gugli pause. “Everyone calls me Gugli, but I have no preference, you may call me whatever you wish. But signore, what of my other lessons?”

Hannibal smirked lightly, his smile almost entirely contained in his gaze. “All your lessons will be with me from now on. I wish to train you for the stage one day, and all your lessons will be focused on that.”

His frown deepened. “But, Signore, surely…”

Hannibal cut him off with a sharp look. “Did you forget our earlier discussion so soon, Guigli?”

Gugli bit back a retort and simply shook his head. “No, Signore.”

Lecter nodded. “Very good. I’ll see you in one hour.” 

He left wondering what hell he’d gotten himself into.

 

* * *

 

Over the next few days, Gugli’s whole world consisted only of Hannibal. He still saw the other students during meals, and Peter always joined him, but afterwards, he had to return to the music room for another hour or two of lessons, often leading right up his bedtime. He fell into bed each night too exhausted to remove his tunic or stockings. He lay on his mattress, his red sash often on the floor; his head still buzzing from the days’ activities. He felt Maestro Lecter trying to coax something out of him, something he was too afraid to let out. He’d built a dam in front of the pain of his past, and trapped behind the wall was the passion he once felt, but he couldn’t risk the dam breaking to get it back.

Hannibal peeked into Gugli’s room, finding the boy as he had most evenings—sprawled upon his bed quilt still in his clothes, shoes dangling from his stocking feet. This time he dared to enter. He walked over to Gugli and carefully removed his shoes placing them gently on the floor, pausing to take in his long limbs, still clad in black. He noticed his stockings disappeared all the way up his thighs and held no ties. Obviously, he had not been completely cut off financially by his family if he could afford stockings with elastic. Very curious. He gently moved his limbs under the quilt, covering him well, so as not to risk his voice with a chill. Hannibal stared down at his pale, always flushed skin, so beautiful and pristine. He’d make a very striking figure on the stage when he was old enough. Women all over Italy would throw themselves at his feet, if they could only find the hidden passion he knew lurked somewhere in his depths.

Hannibal leaned down and whispered close to his ear. _“How will we get past your pain, dear Gugli to find the joy I know you still possess.”_

He walked quietly to the door, sparing one last glance before shutting it gently behind him.

**

“I’m afraid Maestro Pazzo, Gugli is not progressing as I had hoped.”

Hannibal had sought out Signore Pazzo in his office just before the mid-day meal. He’d dismissed Gugli after a frustrating morning, trying desperately to make him understand he couldn’t simply be technically correct; he must express the emotions of the music, or it will fall flat. The boy left angry, though he tried very hard not to show it. Hannibal realized if he didn’t reach him soon, he may need to give up. He had an idea, but he needed Maestro Pazzo’s permission. There was a strong love for music in Gugli, he could see it whenever he played the viola and harpsichord, or in the simple but elegant cantatas he created in their composition lessons. He needed to break down that protective wall he created and overwhelm him with sheer beauty of music. For that he needed permission for Gugli to leave the conservatoria for the evening and accompany him to the opera.  

“Signore Lecter, you must understand that is a privilege only for the older boys and then only the best and well behaved. I’m afraid Gugli meets none of these criteria. It wouldn’t be fair to the other students.”

“I have no interest in the other students. Gugli is the only chance you have of making a name for your conservatoria in the next five years. But that will only happen if I can reach him; he lacks passion.”

Pazzo knew if they didn’t produce a star pupil soon, they would start to lose the interests of their most loyal benefactors, including the Pope himself. But maybe they were digging for water in a well that had long ago dried up.

“Perhaps, the boy simply isn’t capable passion. It is not unheard of.”

Hannibal shook his head vehemently. “No. I saw him sing when he was still a boy. He moved everyone to tears, before he even understood his power. Something happened to him and made him loathe his gift. I need him to see the beauty in it again.”

“And you think a trip to the Opera will accomplish this?”

“Farinelli is to give his last performance in public before he retires to become the private musician to the King of Spain. He wanted to return to the place he gave his very first performance when he wasn’t much older than Gugli. I need to him to see what his future can be; that it doesn’t need to be mired in so much pain.”

Pazzo sat silently, while Hannibal waited not at all patiently for his answer. He knew full well he’d take the boy regardless, but it’d be less troublesome to have his blessing.

“When is the performance? I should like to see it myself, but of course, I cannot afford trips to the opera these days.” 

Hannibal chose to ignore the blatant insinuation. “Friday evening. That should be enough time to order a formal suit for him, though it may need to be something already made. I will take care of the cost myself of course.” 

“Nonsense. The boy can pay for it out of his own account. His family gave him the rightful allotment he would have received on his eighteenth birthday.”

Hannibal found that surprising, though it would explain the stockings, and the fact that he had many more tunics than the other boys, who rarely owned more than two if they were lucky. 

“So, you met the parents then?”

Pazzo shook his head. “No, the papers arrived by courier, and I was instructed to procure a representative for the boy to be present when the family lawyer arrived to witness the transfer of account. No one has ever visited him since he arrived here three years ago. It is very sad, but not surprising. It'd be best to return after the other students are in bed.”

“Thank you Maestro Pazzo. I will take care of all the arrangements, and I hope to return to you a boy who will finally be able to reach his full potential.” 

He stood and shook Hannibal’s hand. “Let us hope so, for the his sake.”

 

* * *

 

Gugli stood in his room, staring at the mirror for once, rather than avoiding it. It was strange to find himself in proper attire. He hadn’t worn a real frock and waistcoat in so long; not since he arrived in this place. Maestro Hannibal had chosen a frockcoat in deep blue heavy silk, trimmed in gold with a simple but elegant design. The waistcoat was a navy brocade, and the breeches a pale cream with a faint gold pattern, fastened just below his knees with small gold buckles. The white stockings looked strange, and the navy shoes he wore with small heels looked even stranger. He didn’t recognize himself.

Earlier, he’d been forced into a bath of sweet smelling oils and the Maestro’s valet brushed his curls until they shined, and nearly behaved themselves. He helped him dress, despite his protests, finishing with a broach made of onyx, to secure the white kerchief at his throat. A loan he was told, so he must be extra careful not to lose it. He didn’t understand why all of this fuss was being made, and Maestro Hannibal wouldn’t divulge where they were going. He knew an evening out was unheard of for students, especially one as young as him. Perhaps they were going to hear chamber music a nearby chapel, as the Maestro had become increasingly frustrated with his general lack of musical knowledge or passion for learning more. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t deny a break in the dreary routine wasn’t welcome.

A quick rap at the door told him Maestro Hannibal had arrived. He went to the door, and was greeted by his Maestro looking resplendent in a suit of dark purples and reds, with his hair neatly tied with a black silk bow. Hannibal beamed at the sight of him, knowing he’d chosen the color well, as it brought out the stormy blue of his eyes, and the faint blush of his cheeks. He reached out for his arm.

“Shall we?”

Gugli took his arm, feeling a little silly, as he wasn’t really a child any longer, but for once Maestro Hannibal’s stern features were softened with glee, so he kept his protests silent. They were soon in a beautiful carriage and he tried not to think of the last time he was in a carriage this fine. As they traveled through the dark city streets, eventually coming upon their destination, he couldn’t contain the small gasp that escaped his lips. There looming ahead in all its glory was the Teatro di San Carlo; Naples brand new opera house, a place he’d only heard whispers of from the patrons who came to hear them sing; that if they were especially good, one day they would grace its halls. And here they were.

As Hannibal helped him out of the carriage, he gazed up at the beautiful arches that seem to disappear into the heavens. He glanced up at his Maestro, eyes bright for the first time, and gave him a very rare, but no less beautiful, smile.

**

Also, this is the song Hannibal hears Gugli singing for the first time in the first chapter. [(This boy is also AMAZING)](https://youtu.be/qBzSoXUOfos)

 


	4. Farinelli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Sorry for the break over the holidays, but with traveling and cooking and eating, and drinking wine and eating some more, I had time for little else. Things will pick up quickly from here, so forgive the short chapter. I'm going back on schedule and posting another update on Monday. and Please feedback is greatly welcome :)

The sound soared through the theater, reverberating against the walls, surrounding him with such exquisite pleasure he was dizzy with it. The notes, impossibly high, but never breaking, brushed luxuriously against his ears. He felt all at once transported and intimately entwined with the beauty that was Farinelli’s voice. Could he possibly ever be that good? He’d ignored his own talent for years, cursing it for what trauma it brought him, but as he looked around and saw everyone, including his Maestro, brought to tears, he knew he wanted that power.

After the performance, Hannibal steered him away from the crowds that gathered in the lobby, waiting and hoping to catch a glimpse of the incredible Farinelli. Hannibal had trained him many years ago and could easily request an audience backstage, but he thought it would all overwhelm Gugli, so he walked him over to a quiet corner just beyond the reception area and procured him a light punch made with sweet wine. It’d been enthralling to watch the boy and he knew at least some part of his plan worked. Gugli was clearly moved by Farinelli’s voice, his cheeks were still flushed with emotions and unshed tears glistened in his eyes. Perhaps this event would help him understand the true beauty of his talent.

Hannibal let Gugli get half way through his wine before breaking their silence.

“You enjoyed the performance?” 

Gugli looked at him quickly, eyes alight, before dropping his gaze to his glass.

“Yes sir. It was very enjoyable…thank you for bringing me.”

Hannibal nodded, knowing his shell was not one to crack easily. “I’m pleased. Do you understand why I brought you tonight?”

Gugli nodded slowly, eyes remaining on his glass. “I believe so, sir.” 

“You can’t undo the past, as painful as I imagine it was, but your future doesn’t have to be as dismal as you seem determined to make it.”

Gugli didn’t answer, merely looked up at the Maestro, finally meeting his eyes, and offered no protest.

Hannibal moved to say they should head to their waiting carriage when a small door opened. A resplendent Farinelli emerged, pausing in his attempt to exit quietly out a back entrance when he spotted his old teacher.

“Maestro! I was told you were in the audience, I was hoping to see for myself!” he grabbed Hannibal by both shoulders and planted a kiss on each cheek.

Hannibal returned the gesture, beaming with pride at his former pupil.

“Not a dry eye in the house. You were exquisite as always my sweet boy.”

Farinelli smiled, but chastised him gently. “A boy no longer Maestro, but I see you have a new boy. Is he a pupil?”

“Forgive my manners. Senor Farinelli, this is Gugli, a new pupil of mine at the Conservatorio. I have just begun instruction there.”

Gugli looked up at Farinelli, still not believing this voice was attached to a mere man—though there was something still feminine about him, or rather he had no other word for it. He wondered if this were to be his fate.

“Is this the young angel I’ve heard so many whisper about? I’m told he will put even me to shame when he comes of age. He certainly already has me beat in beauty.”

He traced a finger along Gugli’ smooth cheek, and he stepped away from the touch instinctively. 

Farinelli took no offense. “A shy one.” His face lost his impish grin suddenly and his features softened as he looked at Gugli seriously.

“Your road ahead is not an easy one, and there will be heartache, but never forget how much power you hold inside you, never let anyone make you feel anything less than a treasure and a gift from God. Maestro Lecter helped me to see that when I needed to. You are in very good hands.” He placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, then made to go.

“Please Signore, stay in touch. It is so wonderful to see you again. Take good care of this one. I hope to share a stage with him one day.”

He bowed to them both then slipped out the door quietly.

**

When they arrived back at the Conversatorio, Hannibal insisted on seeing Gugli to his door. He’d said very little on the ride back, but the light never left his eyes. He sat quietly in the carriage, immersing himself in the memory of every note and every stroke of a bow against strings. And how fantastic Farinelli was! He hoped to hear him sing again. Maybe if he put more effort into his lessons, Hannibal would take him back to the opera. Though he doubted he’d ever have enough humility to ask himself.

As Hannibal bid him goodnight at his door, Gugli paused and took his hand.

“Thank you again Signore. I had a wonderful time. Forgive me for not also thanking you for the suit earlier. It’s very nice to wear regular clothes.”

Hannibal smiled. “I have to say it becomes you. Perhaps you’ll have more occasion to wear it.”

Gugli only smiled slightly in response, not daring to hope for any further outings.

“Get some rest. Despite our lovely evening, I expect you in my classroom bright and early tomorrow morning, ready to apply what you’ve learned tonight. Goodnight Gugli.”

Gugli shut his door and stood in front of the mirror just taking in his reflection, and really wishing he never had to adorn that damned sash again.

 

* * *

 

At first the snickers were faint, and glances fervent, but the chatter became increasingly bolder as the day wore on. Word had somehow gotten around that Gugli was taken out to the opera by Maestro Lecter the night before—apparently a student overhead one of the maids talking about having seen them return together, looking “well turned out in such fancy frocks!” The jealousy and resentment many had kept at bay was sparked by the news and fueled by the voices of others. Gugli pointedly ignored them as he always did, but the words that reached his ears was making his anger grow. By the evening meal, he’d had enough and sat in the far corner of the room, even turning away Peter when he made to join him. Peter looked hurt, but left him alone without another word. Maybe Peter should have stayed. When Gugli passed a group of students on his way to return his mostly untouched plate to the sideboard, he passed a table of older students. One boy, a fledgling tenor, who’d always expressed his contempt for the special treatment Gugli received, took the opportunity to speak    loud enough for Gugli to hear his vicious taunts. “Ah, there he goes! The great Gugli! As pretty as any girl, no wonder the Maestro wants to bed him. His useless cock is no good to anyone, but I’m sure Signore Lecter has found good use by bending him over and stuffing his own up there!”

A few of the boys were too shocked to react, but more burst into gleeful laughter. Gugli stood there frozen, face turning bright red. In that moment, every ounce of pain and rage he’d held back for so many years, every ounce of contempt he felt for everyone at that hateful school, erupted and he pounced on the offending student, sending him out of his chair, and crashing backwards onto the floor. His head banged hard against the unforgiving floorboards, and Gugli used his stunned state to pull him away from the table and begin pounding remorselessly with his fists any part of him he could reach. Peter ran to find the nearest adult, to help stop the fight, as three students tried to pull Gugli off, to no avail. Maestro Pazzo came running in with one of the caretakers, and together managed to pull a still raging Gugli off of the boy. Hannibal heard the commotion and rushed towards the large dining room, stopping abruptly when he saw what was transpiring. There was his quiet, but sharped tongue Gugli turned into a raging beast. He was fighting with everything he had; every muscle in his body trained only to destroy the boy flailing helplessly beneath him. Hannibal thought he’d never seen anything more magnificent. He was beautiful with his face flushed and tears streaming uncaring down his cheeks. The only sound he made were the grunts of rage and strain. This was the boy he needed to reach. Only then would he discover the raw power Hannibal could now see he possessed.

 


	5. Piacere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late, sorry. This chapter got away from me, but its twice as long as the previous! so thats something. Its the first venture into  
> (E) Explicit territory (of sorts) just to warn.
> 
> Also, comments are ALWAYS loved and appreciated, good or bad.

Gugli sat very still in Pazzo’s office. His knees were drawn up in the chair, and his head sat against his knees. Only the trembling of his curls betrayed he was alive at all. Pazzo tried to talk to him, to ask him what happened, but Gugli remained silent, refusing to even look at him. Exasperated, he finally walked out of the office, presumably to find Signore Lecter. He couldn’t explain what happened, not even to himself. Blinding rage took over and all he wanted to do was make that boy suffer as much as he had. The intensity of the emotion terrified him, and it’s not something he ever wanted to feel again. And now his future was no longer secure, but he couldn’t focus enough to even worry about it. If they asked him to leave, he would do so without protest.  

**  
 

“This is very serious, Signore Lecter! We cannot let this pass! Gugli has broken his nose, and we know how detrimental that can be for a singer! He may have altered that boy for life.”

Hannibal appeared unmoved, “The boy is mediocre at best, and you allow him to stay here as a favor for an old friend. I doubt Gugli has altered his future in anyway. He didn’t hurt his hands after all, which will be the only thing that could ever serve him in making a living.”

Pazzo looked incredulous. “Do intend to ask me to let this go unpunished?! I can assure you Signore, that is impossible. That boy will be punished, severely!”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes, ready to fight him on this if necessary. “And how do you intend to punish him?”

Pazzo looked truly angry now. “If I thought his family would take him back, I’d expel him at once! But they made it perfectly clear they wanted nothing more to do with him, and even I am not so cruel as to turn a young boy into the streets. I’d say fifty lashes as a start! Surely you cannot object to that.”

“I absolutely can, and I must insist you do not lay a hand on him. Gugli does not need to endure further suffering. I was finally beginning to reach him; punishing him would undo all of that. You heard what Peter admitted the boy said to him. You yourself would have done worse if you were insulted so!”

Pazzo’s ire seemed to dissipate some. “Yes…it was quite awful what he insinuated, and to involved a teacher no less…but still…”

“You will not lay a hand on him. I agree he should be away from the other students for a while, until everything calms down. He should be confined to his room in between lessons with me. He can take all his meals in my office with me as well.”

Pazzo raised a brow at that. “That hardly seems like a punishment, and no doubt it will only fuel the rumors.”

Hannibal waved his hand in dismissal. “One jealous boy’s ranting is not a rumor, and I don’t often tailor my actions to the whims of children. Do you Signore?” 

“Of course not!”

Hannibal nodded. “Then we are in agreement. Leave Gugli to me, and I do hope you will tell the other students that taunting others will not be tolerated.”

Pazzo’s argument had lost all steam and he had better things to do than to worry about the temperament of an always troublesome student. 

“As you wish. He is waiting in my office if you’ll follow me.”

 

* * *

 

Gugli glanced up, only moving his eyes when he heard Hannibal’s voice outside the office door. When he entered, Hannibal took in the way he was sitting, and decided to get him out of there immediately.

“Gugli, come with me.”

Gugli stood up and followed without so much as a glance at Pazzo.

He walked behind Hannibal, never uttering a word, never asking where they were headed. Once they approached the landing to his room, he thought maybe he brought him there to pack. Striking another student was usually grounds for immediate expulsion. But he found he couldn’t muster the energy to care. They did not stop at his room, however, and continued to Hannibal’s own rooms at the end of the hall. He opened the suite doors, and gestured for Gugli to walk in.

He stood stoically by the entrance while Hannibal rang for the butler and asked him to bring some tea, then set about lighting a fire in the room’s fireplace. Once he had a small fire going he gestured for Guigli to sit in one of the chairs placed in front of it. He mechanically did as he was told and Hannibal took the other chair. He waited for the butler to return with the tea and leave them before he spoke.

“I know you don’t want to talk about what happened, but I need you to.”

Gugli looked over at him, jaw set, but his eyes betrayed him. They were soft and glassy with pain. He quickly looked away.

“What I want you to tell me, is what happened to you in that moment. I know what that awful boy said, and he will be dealt with. I want to know why you reacted as you did.”

Hannibal handed him a cup of tea, and Gugli took it without sipping. He finally spoke in a very small voice that pulled at Hannibal’s heart.

“I don’t know, Signore.”

“Was what that idiot said correct?”

Gugli looked up at that. “Of course not…well not all of it.”

Hannibal frowned, but he thought he knew which part he was referring to.

“Drink your tea. And what part was he correct in?”

Gugli flushed deeply and sipped his tea to avoid speaking.

“Gugli?”

He stared intently at his teacup. “My…my cock is useless, Signore.”

Hannibal would have laughed at crudeness and politeness brought together in the same sentence, had the boy not looked so pained.

“And how do you know that?”

Gugli threw him an angry glare. “You know what they do to us.”

Hannibal nodded. “Yes, and it’s abominable, but it doesn’t render it useless.”

Gugli quickly looked away. “I don’t wish to talk about this.”

Hannibal placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Very well. We will just sit and enjoy the fire. You can talk or not as you wish.”

They sat there silently for some time. Hannibal kept his promise and asked him no more questions, while Gugli sipped the tea, that Hannibal had laced with brandy to help him relax.

He did speak after some time. “I am sorry for what I did to Matteo.”

Hannibal looked over at him. “Are you?”

He nodded. “Yes. I don’t like feeling that angry. It scares me.”

“Have you ever felt that angry before?”

Gugli nodded, but didn't elaborate, finishing the last of his tea. “Only once. I’m very tired Signore, may I return to my room?”

Hannibal nodded and stood to help him up. He was slightly unsteady on his feet, but Hannibal knew he’d at least get some sleep tonight and hopefully not be plagued by nightmares. When they reached his door, he stopped Gugli before he went in.

“Gugli, I will tell you something I know of boys like you, and I won’t bother you with the details of how I know. When it comes to your cock, you are no more incapable than any other, you simply have to know how ‘to turn it on’, so to speak. While other boys are triggered by a simple thought, I’m afraid a more direct approach is needed in your case. So, if you find yourself curious enough to experiment, you should touch it to see whether or not it is as useless as you claim. Sleep well, and I will see you in the morning.”

Gugli stood there gaping at the things Maestro Lecter had let fall from his mouth. He must know that very act is strictly forbidden by the church, though he knew plenty of boys engaged. Regardless, he knew he could never touch himself in that way since the idea of doing any more than the quick cleaning it required made his skin crawl. He had no desire to explore just how much of a freak he truly was.

 

* * *

 

The next day was the start of the weekend, which meant Pazzo and a few of the teachers would be taking all the students out on their weekly excursion. They’d attend the large chapel in the center of town and be allowed to wander the street markets under the watchful eyes of their guardians. Those who had the means would be allowed to purchase a few small things for themselves. Normally, Gugli would stay towards the rear of the line, joined by Peter. During their time at the market, he’d often by Peter his favorite sweets. He always protested, embarrassed he had no coin of his own, but Gugli assured him he had more than enough to spare, and it was one of the few times Peter ever saw him smile. Today, however, Gugli had to stay behind, which didn’t feel like much of a punishment, since he never enjoyed the excursions anyway. But still he stood on the small balcony outside of his room and watched them leave. Peter noticed him and gave a small wave, which Gugli returned before stepping back inside the hall.

He knew Hannibal had joined him, but he didn’t turn from the window.

He came and stood next to him, seeing what caught his attention below.  
  
“If you like, I can take you out later, if you agree to practice your viola for at least an hour in your room.”

Gugli thought not to answer, but that’d be rude, and Maestro didn’t deserve his anger right now. He was only angry at himself.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m still supposed to be punished after all.”

“I never agreed to any punishment. I’ve wanted to strike that arrogant child myself on several occasions. I’m only trying to keep Signore Pazzo happy. My offer still stands should you change your mind, though I’d like you practice your viola regardless. And one page of composition. I’ll check on you later this afternoon.”

Hannibal turned and left Gugli by the window and headed downstairs.

 

* * *

 

He threw his all into playing, trying to remember the notes he heard in the beautiful opera hall, just the other night. It seemed so long ago now, that spark of pure joy awakened in him, only to be lost so quickly. So, he let the music carry him, keeping all his dark and ugly thoughts away. After an hour of intense playing, he finally had to relinquish his bow as his arm needed to rest. He placed the instrument carefully in its case when he heard a small rap on the door. He thought maybe it was Hannibal, ready to drag him out into the busy Naples streets. It definitely surprised him to see Peter standing on the other side of the door instead.

“Peter? I thought I saw you leave with the others?”

Peter shifted uneasily on his feet, unable to hide his nervousness. “I…I didn’t want to go if you can’t. The other boys are being…”

Gugli nodded, suspecting the boys were now particularly unkind to Peter now that he’d taken his side over the other boy.

“Maestro Lecter saw me as I snuck back in. I thought I was in trouble for sure! But he said I could come up here and keep you company if I wanted. He mentioned you were going out later, after the mid-day meal.”

Gugli tried his best not to roll his eyes; Signore Lecter always assumed he’d get his way. “Maybe. I’m not sure I want to go out, honestly.”

“Why?! I think it’d be wonderful to spend an afternoon with him. I know most think he’s stern, but I like him.”

Gugli had to admit he liked him as well, though he couldn’t say why. He mainly left his presence either annoyed or downright angry. But he at least pushed him, and he appreciated it. 

“No doubt if Maestro Lecter deems an outing necessary, then it will happen.”

The sat in silence for a few moments, and Gugli had the impression there was something Peter wanted to tell him, but couldn’t yet find the courage to voice it. So, he picked up his viola again, and began tightening the strings; waiting patiently. 

“Shall I play you something?”

Peter was never more than proficient on the viola, but he loved the music it produced. In those early days, often played for him as a thank you for looking out for him. He played a simple sonata he’d recently learned, while Peter listened with his eyes closed perched on the end of his bed. When he finished, he gave Gugli an enthusiastic applause which made him blush. He went to play another, when Peter stopped him.

“I…Gugli, what Matteo said isn’t true. I just…I just wanted you to know that.”

Gugli put the instrument down, wishing to talk about anything else. “Peter, its…”

“I know it bothers you. It bothers all of us, that are…like this. I was scared I’d never feel like the other boys…but I want you to know, you can.”

Peter really was a dear, and he knew how difficult it must be for him to even broach the subject, so he put aside his own anger at the whole situation and sat next to him.

“Signore Lecter told me you have to…touch it, but I don’t really believe him, and I could never do that anyway. It’s wrong.”

“What’s more wrong than what was done to us?”

Gugli had no answer to that. Why was he holding so steadfast to church rules, when those same rules condemned him from even existing, yet it was a Bishop who helped do this to him.

“Have you really done it?”

Peter nodded. “I know it’s weird to talk about, but sometimes, you just want something to feel good, even if it seems wrong.”

Gugli knew his face was inflamed; he’d never lost his tendency to blush. “I know you’re trying to help, and I do appreciate it, but I don’t think I could ever touch myself there—not like that.”

“I could do it for you…”

“Peter!” Gugli shot up from the bed immediately. That was far worse.

“Oh! No, I mean not like that! I just…just to show you it’s true. You said you'd be to scared to try yourself."

Gugli stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Finally, he nodded very slightly.

Peter gave him a small smile. "Sit down. Do you have some oil?”

Gugli sat back down and gestured towards where he kept his bath things. He was curious, and there was no one he trusted more than Peter. He was a monster after all, maybe it didn’t matter what he did.

Peter sat next to him with the small bottle of oil. Gugli looked suspiciously at Peter pouring a little into his right hand. 

“Whats that for?”

“Oh, it makes it easier, but you don’t need too much, or the foreskin won’t move down.”

Gugli blushed clear past his throat at that. He didn’t know a thing about sex, and the only thing he knew about his own penis was to pull the skin back to clean it. He’d barely felt any stirrings James warned him about before it was all taken away. He just nodded and Peter gently reached under his tunic.

“If you um..pull your stockings down a bit, it makes it easier.”

Gugli did as he was asked, so far feeling nothing but embarrassment. Since his were one piece, he never wore underthings with them, like the boys did who only had garters holding there’s up.

Peter gently took hold of Gugli flaccid cock and touched the head gently at first, and Gugli tried to hold still, unsure of how he was meant to react. He felt nothing but a small tingle at first, but as Peter began to move his hand with more pressure along his length a warm feeling began to pool in his belly that made him gasp at first. Peter smiled and began to quicken his pace as Gugli finally began to harden and grow in his grasp. It felt strange, but incredible and soon he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning out loud. He pulled his tunic up above his waist without thinking, leaned back on the bed, as Peter continued to stroke him.

He stared down at his penis, suddenly unrecognizable to him, curving stiffly towards his belly. The pleasure became more intense, and he instinctively told Peter to stop, but he was ignored and soon he was shutting his eyes and crying out as this new intense feeling overwhelmed him. He felt like he’d just run a flight of stairs and collapsed back on the bed, vaguely wondering what felt wet against his belly. He glanced down curiously at a small wet sticky spot beneath his cock, that was returning to its softened state.

Peter got up to wash his hands in the small basin, unable to stop the smile on his face. Gugli took that moment to hastily pull his tunic down and his stockings back up. The full shame and embarrassment attacked him all at once and kept his eyes downward, afraid to so much as look in Peter’s directions.

Peter’s smiled faded as soon as he saw the state he was in. “I’m…maybe I shouldn’t have done that. But it did feel good, right? Please don’t be ashamed. They’ve taken so much from us—me more than anyone, at least our bodies can still please us in some way.”

Gugli looked up at him, for the first time realizing how truly bleak Peter’s future was. Where would he go when he finally came of age and was forced to leave the Conservatorio? He knew he was barely a year away. He didn’t wish to take his friendship from Peter, when he owed him so much already.

“You’re right Peter. I’m sorry, I guess deep down I’m still a Patrician’s son, even if he will no longer acknowledge me. We’re demons, disguised as angels. Why should we be held to the laws of the pure? Thank you, Peter. I won’t be so repulsed by my own body. It is still mine, after all.”

Peter looked relieved, terrified he’d overstepped and Gugli would hate him.

“Shall I ask Signore Lecter if you can accompany us on the outing later?”

Peter smiled, but shook his head. “I’d be too nervous. I should actually go back to my rooms. I never get any peace. I think I’ll read for a while.”

Gugli nodded. “Can I ask you something though? What was that stuff at the end that was so sticky?”

It wasn’t often Peter remembered that Gugli was a bit younger than him, since he was held in such high esteem in the school. He gently ruffled his curls.

“It’s called semen. Normally it would be how the man gets his seed to the woman to make a baby, but of course we don’t have any. I’m not sure why it still happens, but I’m told it’s not as much as there would be. I think I’m ok with that.” He laughed softly.

Gugli smiled and walked Peter to the door. They said goodbye with mere nods, and Gugli lay back on his bed, trying to recall that lovely feeling right before he got all sticky.

** 

Hannibal passed Peter on his way up to Gugli’s room and gave him a quick hello, smiling slightly to himself at how much lighter Peter’s step seemed to be. He wanted to take Gugli out to get fitted for new clothing. He looked forward to telling him over dinner in town, that his tunic would soon be a thing of the past.

 

**

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Sarto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for the wait. Moving sucks the life out of everything. I was trying to properly finish this chapter, but it was getting long, so I've broken it up, but means I'll be updating in a couple of days.
> 
> Thank you all who have taken the time to comment, I really do appreciate it, its nice to know someone is listening :)

Gugli alternated between ashamed and elated after Peter left. The sensation proved beyond anything he’d felt before and he kept staring at his penis as if it could provide some additional answers. He’d long thought it was merely a dead appendage, as nothing he’d experienced told him otherwise. But what did it matter in the long run? He’d still never marry, or produce an heir. He knew he must let go of the life he’d been raised to think he’d have, but until he understood what life he was truly destined for, its absence only left him with an ever-growing emptiness.

There was a light knock at the door, firmer than the one earlier, and he knew immediately it was Signore Lecter. Luckily, he’d thought to clean himself and air out the room to rid it of the odd musky smell that accompanied that sticky substance. He opened the door to find Signore Lecter standing there with what looked to be a suit of clothing over one arm. Gugli glanced at it questioningly, but didn’t acknowledge it.

“I finished my composition sir, if you’d like to look it over.” 

Hannibal nodded. “Well done. We can go over it together during Monday’s lessons.”

Gugli looked very annoyed then, having spent the early part of the afternoon working on it diligently. 

“I heard playing before. I assume it was you. Poor Peter couldn’t produce such a fluid sound if God himself granted him the soul of Handel.” 

Gugli did not appreciate his assessment of Peter even if it was in jest. “It was, I was just playing a song he likes. And he does try. Not everyone has an ear for instruments.”

Hannibal smiled a bit at Gugli’s need to always defend Peter. “Quite right, I do apologize. You are lucky to be a natural in that respect.”

Gugli rolled his eyes before he caught himself. “If you call ‘natural’ practicing two hours every day, from the age of five.”

Hannibal allowed himself a small chuckle of surprise at the hint of humor from the boy.

“Even in the most well practiced students often never rise above mediocrity. But we can discuss the strengths of your talent later. I believe I promised you an outing.”

Gugli glanced down at his black frock with its red sash and hoped for a moment the suit of clothes Signore Lecter held, were for him.

“Not to worry. When you accompany me, I’d like you to appear as nothing more than a young man of means. I’m sure you’re aware that people are hypocrites. They would come in droves to weep at your voice, yet treat you as an abomination off the stage.” Hannibal thrust the clothing at him.

“These are for you. I had them ordered along with your outfit for the opera. Don’t be long.” 

Gugli stared in disbelief at the clothing, but took them happily. He didn’t bother suppressing the smile at the prospect being able to walk the streets of Naples freely, without wearing the black tunic and red sash that branded him a freak. He took the bundle and hurriedly untied his sash as Hannibal left him to it.

He’d chosen well—a simple dark blue silk frock coat, with a faint gold pattern, that flared slightly in the back. It sat perfectly on him, exposing a cream waist coat whose faint pattern matched that of the coat. The breeches were a slightly darker shade of blue; nearly black, off-set by white silk stockings and the white lace of the shirt that flowed out beyond the coat’s cuffs and sat in voluminous lace at his neck.  He dressed quickly, taking a moment to admire his reflection; though the tussled mop on his head now looked especially incongruous. He picked up the rarely used brush from his vanity and sought to tame his locks. Others were envious of his natural curls, but they were never anything other than a nuisance to him. Still he tried, and when his hair fell in soft, curling waves he put the brush down, satisfied.

Hannibal knocked but didn’t wait for an answer before he let himself in. Guigli turned, offering a rare smile. Hannibal beamed back at him.

“Well! I believe we’ve found your colors. Amazing they fit so well considering we didn’t have the benefit of measurements. But we’ll take care of that today. Our first stop will be the tailor.”

Guigli looked very puzzled. “But why? Are we to be venturing out so often?”

“We’ll talk about that later. First…” Hannibal walked towards him holding a satin ribbon in the same dark blue color as his breeches. He stood behind him and carefully gathered a bit of his hair at the back, and tied the ribbon into a perfect bow.

He stood back, admiring his handy-work. “Not bad, considering I haven’t tied one myself since I was a boy.” 

Gugli stared at himself, suddenly overcome with emotion. He wondered if he would have worn clothing like this every day, if the course of his life hadn’t been altered. He looked like a patrician’s son; a young man of means, with a bright future. Hannibal noticed the sudden shift in mood and wondered if this was all too soon. 

“Guigli...?”

He turned then, letting his emotions fall back behind his mask. “Forgive me Maestro, I’m fine. I’m ready.” He walked past Hannibal and headed out the room.

 

* * *

 

Naples was going through a period of enlightenment, spurred on by their new king, Charles III.  He was bringing a renaissance to the beautiful city by the sea, and it was fast becoming the artistic and musical capital of Italy, if not all of Europe. This was reflected in the brazen, almost giddy display of its citizens. Gugli was often ushered through the streets quickly to sing at various cathedrals, but generally kept his eyes trained on the back of whoever walked in front of him. He didn’t want to see the obvious contempt on faces as he walked by, wearing the mark of a castrati. But now, safely disguised, he was free to look at all Naples had to offer. It was a light in colors and yards of silk and luscious satin everywhere his eye turned. He’d never seen such elaborate, billowy frock coats, and skirts of the brightest silks that put his own dark colors to shame.  So enthralled with his surroundings, he didn’t even notice Hannibal had hold of his arm that whole time and maneuvered him expertly through the crowds. He realized his gawking would have landed him in a collision with lamppost if he wasn’t careful. He had the decency to look embarrassed, but Hannibal only chuckled.

“Take it all in, sweet boy. I’ll make sure you don’t trip over your own feet. At any rate, we are nearly to our destination.”

Gugli made more of an effort to pay attention to where he was going as he followed Signore Lecter the last block to the tailor.  When they arrived at the door, he looked over at Hannibal, shaking his head slightly.

“I can’t believe you were serious.” 

Hannibal held the door open for him. “I never joke about these things.”

**

The shop was brimming with reams of every sort of luxurious fabric imaginable—everything from the finest damasks to the warmest wools and fur. Gugli wandered around, fingering fabric and picking up pearl and jeweled buttons, stopping occasionally in front of a well-outfitted mannequin, while Hannibal looked through sketches with the tailor. Perhaps a new suit of clothing wouldn’t be so terrible. It wasn’t until he peeked into the next room, and saw cut fabric and chalk did he realize the fabric would need to be fitted to his own body. He paled and quickly started for the shop’s door.

Hannibal happened to glance up, as he’d been keeping track of his movements around the shop, delighted he seemed interested. So, it puzzled him, why he suddenly made for the door.

“Gugli. We haven’t even done measurements yet.”

Gugli turned, trying frantically to think of a good enough excuse that wouldn’t completely embarrass him, but his words caught in his throat.  Hannibal immediately noticed the distress on his face and he excused himself from the tailor and took Gugli outside.

“What is it?” 

“I don’t…”

Hannibal softened his gaze, worried he’d further stress him. “You don’t what? Whatever it is, it’s fine, I promise you.”

Gugli shook his head sharply. “No…I. I don’t want him touching me. _Fitting_ me.”

Hannibal nodded, finally understanding. “Signore Marrone has fitted some of the most famous castrati of our time. He even made the beautiful costume Farinelli wore that night at the opera. You needn’t worry. I would never bring you to someone who would look upon you as anything but a treasure. You have no reason to feel shame, and I assure you, he’ll be patient and gentle.”

He waited while Gugli let his words digest. Of course, if he still insisted, they would leave, but he hoped he’d try to overcome his fears and proceed.

“Shall we go back in?”

Gugli looked up at him and nodded. Hannibal smiled and opened the door for him. “I’ll ask Signore Marrone to bring out some fruit and cheese, and perhaps some wine for your nerves. You must be starving.”

Gugli looked surprised at the offering of wine, but nodded, managing a small “Thank you.”

 

**

The wine did help a little, and as promised, the tailor was very gentle and impersonal, trying his best to make Gugli feel at ease. Hannibal watched as the tailor draped colorful silks and fine wools on Gugli, pausing at times to get his approval on a color. He’d have given him a say if he didn’t look like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. Fortunately, the tailor moved deftly and kept touches minimal and light, understanding the discomfort of his young client.

Once the ordeal was over, Hannibal returned his waist coat and frock, setting him at a table in front of a tray laden with bread, cheese, and fruit and a little more wine. Gugli ate and watched as Signore Lecter picked out trims and buttons with the tailor. He wondered if they’d ever ask him what he’d like, but he honestly had no interest in any of it. The only thought that plagued him was why he was doing all of this. He was only his teacher, yet he’d taken a very personal interest in him. Perhaps the relationship between Maestro and student was different when being trained for the stage. Even still, it was a huge adjustment after merely being tolerated for so long. The conservatoire only saw that he was fed, kept warm and that his voice stayed well protected. No one had given this much thought to his well-being since his Mother and James. Gugli took another sip of wine to wash away that particular sorrow. He wanted to enjoy the day and it was no time to give into melancholy.

By the time they were finished, Hannibal had ordered eight new day outfits and one fit for an evening at the opera, or when, as he planned, they were received in aristocratic drawings rooms. He wanted to go order new stockings and maybe a couple new broaches, but seeing the bloom of red in Gugli’s cheeks, he thought taking him to get something more substantial to eat to counteract the wine, was the more pressing matter. Hannibal smiled at his young companion, suddenly filled with a deep affection. It was nice to see him enjoy such simple pleasures, even if he did so with his usual frown firmly in place.   

Gugli looked up at him, managing a small trace of a smile. “Are you done fussing over brocades and ribbons? I still don’t understand what this is all for. I don’t think I’m allowed to embellish my tunic.”

Hannibal squeezed his shoulder gently and offered his hand as assistance. Gugli took it, and to his credit, only wobbled a little, even being so unused to wine. 

“We’ll discuss it over a fine lunch, as I promised.”

“Is that where we’re headed now?”

“Indeed. There’s a very nice tavern not far from here, that serves the most amazing maccheroni.”

Gugli nodded, trying to keep up with his Maestro’s long legs as he steered him towards another adventure. He wasn’t entirely sure what maccheroni was—the food he’d become used to was bland at best, but he was eager to try. 

The “tavern” was in fact someone’s home. Many people who lived near the city center, opened their kitchens and dining rooms to citizens of means. They often set up an array of tables in the downstairs portion of the home, while the family lived upstairs. Judging by how warmly Hannibal was greeted, he was a frequent guest.

After nearly inhaling the delicious maccheroni before remembering his manners, he knew never wanted to touch the swill at the conservatoire again. Next came suckling pig stuffed with rosemary, and he had to refrain from licking his plate. He went easier on the wine this time seeing how quickly it went to his head. But he didn’t need wine to finally bring forth the long-suppressed smile to all its full glory.

“Maestro, I don’t know how you expect me to go back to eating Signora Vera’s abysmal cooking after this.”

Hannibal smiled warmly, putting his napkin down, enjoying the pleasure that comes from savoring a delicious meal.

“What if I told you, you didn’t have to eat her cooking for much longer?” 

Gugli looked him confused. “What do you mean? I don’t want to get her dismissed. She’s a very nice woman, even if she’s a terrible cook.” 

“Your concern for Signora Vera is very touching, but I don’t intend to have the old woman dismissed.” Hannibal paused trying to find the right way to phrase his plan, having no idea how he would respond.

“My goal, is to have you come stay at my palazzo.” He continued despite the look of alarm on Gugli’s face. “You are very talented—much more than I will ever personally tell you, and I think you need more intense instruction. I see no reason why you couldn’t command the stage within a year.”

Gugli looked truly incredulous now. “A year! That’s madness. I’m not even sure if I want to be onstage…”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes, growing tired of this game. “And what, do you intend to do if not the stage?”

Gugli lowered his eyes, but said nothing. He had no answer.

“I saw how Farinelli moved you, and I also noticed the new intensity you brought to your lessons afterwards. Something awakened in you that night, and I know you saw your future. I’m merely offering you the best way to achieve it.”

Gugli said nothing for a while. He had no love for Conservatoire, but it was the only place he’d known since being brought there after that miserable stay in a small monastery while he healed. And what of Peter?

“Where do you live?”

Hannibal looked pleased. “I live in San Giorgio. My place overlooks the water, I think you’ll find it very comfortable.”

“What about Peter? Can he come with us?”

Hannibal frowned at that. While Peter was a nice boy, it was crucial Gugli not be distracted.

“I can arrange for Peter to visit on the weekends. As he is indebted to the Conservatoire, I cannot take him. When he turns 18 and is free, we can discuss if there is a place for him.”

Gugli wanted to argue, but he could tell Hannibal was immovable in this. At least he had agreed to let him visit. 

“Fine.”

“Your enthusiasm warms me.”

Gugli sighed. “I’m sorry Maestro. I know you want the best for me and I am being ungrateful. I’m ready to leave this life behind and begin my next.”

Hannibal gave him a rare true smile. “Good. Now have some more wine; you’re going to love this dessert.”

**

They wandered the streets for a while, Hannibal delighting in watching Gugli absorb everything around him. He didn’t have the heart to tell him that when he starts vigorous training for the stage, he’d rarely be allowed outside for fear of catching a chill, or damaging his voice in some way. The life of the castrati was a very isolated one, its why it was very important they form lasting friendships with people they trusted. Hannibal hoped to be the first among them.

**

They arrived back at the conservatoire later than he intended, and he knew he ought to send Gugli straight to bed, but he could tell he had many questions. Instead he invited him to his rooms, where he lit a fire and poured them both tea with brandy. 

Gugli removed his frock coat and sat there in front of the fire, holding the teacup, remaining very still. Finally, Hannibal broke the silence.

“I feel there is something you wish to tell me.”

Gugli shook his head a little. “I’m not sure I have the words.”

“Sometimes if you start, you find them.”

Gugli glanced at Hannibal, but looked away quickly, returning to stare at the fire.

“It’s just…it’s happening. My life is finally taking its shape, and I don’t know how to feel…actually, that’s not true—I’m angry, and a little sad. I should be planning my future, with many choices open to me. Now I have just one, and it wasn’t my choice. I know, it does no good to be bitter about it. But, Maestro, it’s hard. I don’t want my life to be a consolation. My gift, as you call it, is all I have, and now part of me will always resent it for leading me here.”

He seemed oblivious to the tears now falling freely down his cheeks. Hannibal reached over and took his hand gently, pulling him out of his chair and onto his lap. He knew it was a gesture usually reserved for a child, but in many ways Gugli was still very much one. He came to him willingly and allowed Hannibal to wrap his arms around him and quietly stroke his hair.

“We will find a way to make you happy dear boy. You are more than your beautiful voice. You are a wonderful unique soul and I’ve never anyone quite like you. Even the pain you’ve gone through couldn’t extinguish the bright fire within you. You are stronger than you know.” 

Hannibal held him like that, soothing him with a comforting silence until he fell asleep in his arms.

**

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Mangusta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thus begins the next part of Gugli's life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am extremely sorry for this delay. This chapter simply wouldn't end. I actually had to divide into two. This one is quite long, so I hope that makes up for it. The next chapter will be up before the end of the week. Thank you for continuing to read this. Comments are very much encouraged. Its always good to know what people think of this. <3

Gugli returned to the daily life of the conservatoria, aware of the fleeting time he had left. Everything took on a sharpness and vibrancy, knowing he’d be leaving it all behind soon. He’d no longer be a student, but a professional in training, preparing in earnest for his debut to the dignitaries of Naples.  Maestro Lecter decided this momentous occasion would coincide with his sixteenth birthday—the age most boys became men in the great city. Gugli of course couldn’t anticipate what he’d become; caught in the forever limbo between boy, man and woman. Regardless he was ready for the next phase of his life, whatever his role in it.

The plan was to move to Maestro’s home soon and begin preparing for his debut. Hannibal planned a lavish affair to celebrate his birthday and invited every noble and prominent family and citizen of Naples. The city was already buzzing with anticipation because, though Maestro Lecter’s affairs were few and far between, they were always such extravagant displays, it stayed on the tongues of those fortunate enough to attend for months afterwards. Now everyone waited with nervous excitement to receive their invitation to the upcoming Lecter Ball.  Of course, Gugli himself was full of nerves and excitement. The last couple of weeks found him training no less than six hours a day, and the other time was spent getting fitted for more colorful adorned frocks and waistcoats, while Hannibal fussed over every detail; putting as much importance on his appearance as the quality of his notes. It often infuriated Gugli, but he mostly found himself far too exhausted to voice much protest. He gave into the prods and invasion of his person, if it meant he could get to bed sooner.

He saw very little of Peter in his last few weeks at the conservatoria, or anyone aside from Hannibal, which worked in his favor as it meant he avoided the aftermath of his violent outburst in the dining hall. The boy had returned to classes with his nose in the best shape the surgeons could manage. Whether the boy’s voice suffered at all, he never knew, but everyone avoided even looking in his direction, on the few occasions he saw the other students. Peter did come to him twice, both times well after bed time. The first time, he must have heard Gugli pacing in his room above, awakened from a nightmare and afraid to go back to sleep. He’d slipped in quietly and pulled Gugli into a comforting embrace. Peter had about an inch on him, and he rested his head comfortably on his shoulder, eventually stepping back and pulling his night shirt over his head, baring himself completely. He remained silent, reaching out for Peter’s hand, hoping he knew what he wanted without having to say it. Peter simply nodded and walked Gugli over to his bed and laid him down. He fetched some oil and came back, pushing his legs apart to sit between them. Then he shakenly removed his own night shirt, revealing a small flaccid penis, that he paid no attention to as he carefully brought Gugli the pleasure he sought. Afterwards, he lay down beside Gugli, glancing at him once in question. Gugli wasn’t sure what the question was, but he reached down and pulled the coverlet over both of them and wrapped his arms around Peter’s warm body and fell immediately to sleep. The second time they only slept, and Gugli welcomed the company. When Peter left his room in the morning, they encountered Maestro Lecter in the hallway. His look was not pleased but otherwise unreadable. Gugli went to go to him, but he quickly returned to his room and shut the doors. 

By the start of the days lessons, it was forgotten, and talk was soon turned to what exact aria he would sing for his debut. Until now, he’d never sung a full piece during instruction, only worked on techniques. Finally getting to sing a full song; one he could pour his emotions into, made his sudden smile irrepressible, even if Maestro didn’t share his glee. He merely pressed once again, that this was all a very serious matter, because it would make or break his future. And soon enough, Gugli’s mirth turned to horror as soon as Hannibal presented the chosen aria. For Hannibal the risk was great, but the rewards would be even greater. He’d chosen Handel’s Lascia ch’io pianga, an aria made famous by Farinelli. If Gugli failed to at least live up to Farinelli’s performance, he’d be mocked—but if he surpassed it, as Hannibal thought he would, he would be on the tip of every citizen’s tongue and no doubt sell out the opera house for his first public performance.

Gugli looked pale, and then enraged. “Are you mad?!”

Hannibal merely smirked, amused by Gugli’s outrage. “Perhaps. But I have every faith you will turn this challenge to your favor.”

“I am NOT better than Farinelli! Everyone will laugh, and he’ll be offended!”

“And how do you know if he is better, if you’ve never sung it? I may be mad, sweet boy, but I am no fool. If I didn’t think you could do this, I wouldn’t chance it. I have every reason to believe that Farinelli himself will weep when he hears you.”

Gugli was not appeased and continued to frown, his cheeks growing hot in frustration. “Luckily for me he won’t hear me, because I am not singing this should I make it to the stage.”

Hannibal smiled that smug, amused smile Gugli had grown to hate. “He will hear you. He promised me he wouldn’t miss your debut for anything. He’s making a special trip back from Spain to be there. Shall we begin?”

Gugli looked at the stand containing the sheet music and kicked it across the room, narrowly missing Hannibal, who quickly moved out of the way. He waited to see if he would then storm out and waste an hour being coaxed back to the work room, but instead he stood there, glaring at him, positively fuming, like a beautiful avenging angel. He wanted nothing more than to laugh with delight, but kept his face impassive, waiting to see what Gugli would do next. After a full minute of glaring, he walked over to the stand, picked it and the music up and dragged back to its previous spot. He took his usual place behind it, letting go a deep breath. He looked at Hannibal expectantly. 

Hannibal barely suppressed his grin. “Shall we then?” 

Gugli nodded and opened his mouth to let soar the first fluid notes of the aria.

 

* * *

 

His last week as a conservatoria student went by in a blur. Packing took little time, as he had very few possessions in his room, and the trunks sent from his family home lay unopened in the school’s attic. The only article of clothing he had aside from the hideous tunics he hoped to never see again, was the outfit he wore on their day out. Gugli stood in the middle of his tiny room nestled beneath the roof for the last time. It’d been his home for almost four years, but he felt little but the buzz of anticipation for the next part of his life. He wished he could blink and be settled in Hannibal’s home with all of this behind him already.  Signore Pazzi tried to insist on a farewell dinner, but Gugli threatened to slip away in the middle of the night if he even tried it, so they said their goodbyes in the front hall, with a smattering of morbidly curious boys gazing from the stairs. Only Peter came down to hug him fiercely, choking back tears as Gugli promised him they’d see each other soon. He wanted to mention that perhaps he could even come stay with them once he finished at the school, but Maestro stood by the open doors, looking at him stonily, and though he couldn’t say why, he thought it wise not to mention it. Then they moved swiftly to the waiting carriage, Hannibal giving only a cursory nod to Signore Pazzi, and they were off. Gugli sat quietly with his head leaning against the carriage window, and Hannibal mistook his silence for melancholy.  He gave his hand a soft squeeze. 

“Are you alright?”

Gugli looked at him surprised and nodded, a small smile on his lips. He turned his eyes, bright with hope and promise, straight ahead and never once glanced back towards the Conservatoria fading away in the distance.

 

* * *

 

Life at Maestro Hannibal’s home was unlike anything Gugli had experienced. He’d often talk of his ‘little home atop a hill’ during their evening meals after lessons, but apparently his definition of ‘little’ was not shared by the rest of human kind. The little home was in fact a sprawling estate that stopped abruptly at the edge of a small cliff that sloped off into the sea below. The grounds themselves were green and lush and full of olive and cypress trees that created shaded paths Gugli often found himself getting lost in after a long day of training. The home itself was large and decorated in the traditional Italian style of the day, only with more restraint. Hannibal had a penchant for rich, warm colors on the walls, accented sparingly by gold—a nod to Rococo, but creating a style all its own. Gugli’s own suite was decorated in a pale blue, accented by deep reds, and richer blues, the furniture all in gorgeous natural wood, creating a serene atmosphere that was welcome when nightmares still plagued his sleep. The adjoining closet, if a room half the size of the bedroom could be called that, was covered in a rich blue with wardrobes and a varying array of dress mannequins lining the walls. Drawers of buttons and other adornments filled a tall chest that stood next to a full-length dressing mirror. It was probably his least favorite room.

Today found him as he often was, standing in that dreaded space deciding what to wear. After years of not having a choice, he found the various choices in front of him, tiring, and almost wished Maestro would simply tell him what to wear. He had a valet, but he was shared for now until a personal one could be acquired for him. So, he had little time when his main purpose was the help the man that actually paid him. Gugli quickly chose a cream silk blouse and navy breeches over white stockings and black buckled shoes. He rarely wore a waistcoat indoors, preferring to feel unencumbered when he sang. And singing was all he did these days, aside from eating. His viola sat untouched in its case since he arrived and his composition papers sat blank, while he practiced the same three arias over and over, striving for some unheard perfection.

He dressed quickly, forgoing a silk ribbon to tie his hair, preferring to let it flow ‘wildly’ as Maestro called it. He didn’t care, he liked his hair as it was, even if it was often unruly. And he was never wearing one of those ridiculous powdered wigs that were so fashionable. Breakfast started promptly at 7am, and if he missed it, he’d have to wait until lunch to eat and he’d awoken incredibly hungry, as he did every morning lately. The valet remarked he was probably due for a growth spurt soon. He hoped not, he already resembled a praying mantis as it was. Though it might be fun if he ever grew taller than Hannibal. He’d love something to lord over him, slave driver that he was. Still he didn’t know when he’d been happier. He sometimes missed the constant chatter of the conservatoria but loved the peace and beauty of the estate. It reminded him of his childhood home, perched high above Florence, with the whole city spread out below his rooms. It should make him sad, but he decided to remember how much he loved those hills and tried to be grateful to have something close to it again. The first sound of the clock rang and Gugli broke into a run. There was no way he was missing breakfast. He nearly slipped on the marble floor as he burst through the sun room doors where they usually took breakfast, but he was sat across from a very amused looking Hannibal before the last bell rang. He grinned brightly, cheeks flushed with exertion and picked up a still warm sfogliatella and spread some baked peach preserve on and it took a big bite.

Hannibal raised his brow and gave Gugli a rare chuckle, shaking his head. 

“I think your headstone will one day say you died, cracking your head on the floor tiles in your haste not to miss even a moment of breakfast.”

“And he died for a worthy cause.” Gugli finished, taking another large bite, chasing it with coffee overly sweetened with sugar.

Hannibal huffed a small laugh and took another bite of his sausage. “Well eat quickly, we have much to do today.”

“When do we not?” he mumbled, starting in on the sausage next.

He chose to ignore him and continued. “Your opening night outfit has arrived and I want to make sure it suits you as much as I think it will. Then there is a piece I want you to learn on the viola. Signore Farinelli has requested you play for him when he sings a little aria he’s prepared.”

Gugli’s eyes went round before they narrowed as he grew incensed. “He’s singing? Maestro! How could you allow it?!”

“I couldn’t deny him, and it’s an honor, given he’s retired from the stage. He wants to introduce you.”

Gugli went to protest further, but Hannibal cut him off.

“I’ve had quite enough of this insecurity Gugli. You are better than he ever was. I taught him and its time you believe me. You have nothing to fear from a performance by him, in fact it will only highlight your own. So, stop pouting, eat quickly, so we can get on with practicing.” 

Gugli pulled his bottom lip in, resenting being called out for pouting. He was not a child. Knowing protesting further would get him nowhere, he ate the rest of his meal quietly, and headed towards the music room when he finished.  
 

**

He was barely fighting exhaustion when he finally made his way back to his room that evening. It was his custom to take a short nap after lessons and before the evening meal, but today, he wasn’t certain he’d wake until morning. Hannibal started him on the viola piece he is to play for Farinelli—another beautiful offering from Handel. He’s sure he played it at least twenty times and Maestro was still unsatisfied. In fact, he’s been completely unsatisfied with him lately, saying over and over again, that while he’s technically perfect, he still lacks the emotion the songs need to reach an audience. Gugli is at a lost how to fix it. He sat down on the edge of his bed, kicking off his shoes. Its then he first notices a new addition to the room—a large trunk. He recognizes it of course, it’s the one his family sent with the lawyer when he came to settle his affairs. It’d remained untouched in the conservatoria’s attic all this time. He had no idea how it came to be in his room, but he could certainly guess. He defiantly walked past it into his large closet, refusing to give it any attention. He sat on the bench in there and began to remove his stockings, when he heard the door to his room open. Gugli walked back into the main room, assuming it was Hannibal’s valet. But it was Hannibal himself. 

Gugli just looked at him pointedly, waiting for him to speak, refusing to speak first. Hannibal tried his best not to roll his eyes at his constant insolence.

“I had your trunk moved in here. I was told you’d never opened it. May I ask why?”

“I didn’t want to.”

Hannibal sighed. “You mean you didn’t want to face your past.”

Gugli stopped in the middle of the room, growing angrier by the second, but mostly it was a deep-rooted fear that held him in place. He didn’t want to know what was in there, as silly as it may be. His father tossed him away, and avoiding that fact wasn’t going to change it. Still, there was a permanence and a finality to facing it. Seeing all of things he left behind, that his father no longer wanted in his home would be the final crushing blow.

Gugli looked at him with a pained expression before lowering his eyes. He shook his head.

Hannibal walked over to him, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, suppressing the urge to pull him into an embrace.

“You’ve built walls to protect yourself, and I understand your reasons. You had no one, and your past must be very painful. But until you face it, and learn to accept it as part of you, not something to be feared and shunned, you’ll never experience emotions freely. You only experience them when you’re forced to, when they are out of your control.”

Gugli knew he was right, and he hated it—hated losing control and looking foolish. He glanced at the trunk, still afraid to approach it.

Hannibal put a small key in his hand. “I know you’re scared, but I promise you, unless you want me to, I will not leave your side. You are not alone any longer and I will help you deal with whatever turmoil that trunk brings.”

Gugli takes the key and kneels in the front of the trunk. He lifts the lid carefully, omitting the stale dusty smell of things packed away too long. There were books and small things he’d collected as a boy, a couple of old toys, and a cloth bunny his wet nurse made for him when he was very small. It’d always sat on his bed and he often hugged it to his chest when he was certain no one was watching. There were many wooden horse toys, some on wheels, some very small with tiny soldiers. Days of playing on the balcony off his room, setting up small villages to be trampled by his team of horses, came flooding back to him. Only the horses were put into the trunk, and he wondered if James had packed it. He’d always loved horses, and he couldn’t quite believe he’d forgotten. He picked up a small one that used to sit beside his bed. The bright red paint of its saddle had long since worn off. His first violin, still in its case sat near the bottom, along with a few of his flutes and an old composition pages. He picked them up gingerly, their edges fraying with wear. He traced his fingers over the old crude hand of his eight-year-old self and felt the first pang of regret grip him. He swallowed and put the pages aside. Beneath the papers sat a small narrow case he didn’t recognize. It was wrapped with a silk ribbon with a note attached. He lifted it out of the trunk and sat on the floor to pull away the ribbon and the note. Maestro had remained silent during all of it, watching him for signs of distress. He opened the narrow case, revealing a small dagger inside. His breath caught in his chest, as he removed it carefully from its case. Memories of sitting on his father’s lap on the rare occasions he woke him when he came home in the evenings and being allowed to touch the handle of his beautiful dagger. His father always kept it sheathed so he could handle it without fear. It had a beautifully carved horse head at the handle—its bridle covered in small precious stones that traveled down the hilt following an intricate design that continued on its cover. He’d sit in his night shirt, bundled in a blanket while his father told him stories of men on horses fighting for the great lands of Italy, always triumphant in the end. He unsheathed it to reveal a smooth sharp blade that he lightly traced his finger along, barely gasping when he nicked his finger. Hannibal joined him on the floor, carefully replacing the cover on the blade, and quickly inspected his finger. Gugli seemed oblivious as he picked up the discarded letter. He read it quickly, his hands trembling badly, then took a deep breath and read it again.

_My Dearest Boy,_

_My heart is broken, and I fear it shall never be mended, so I have decided to let you go. Your gift always brought you great joy and I wish now I had understood how deeply you loved it. Though I would never agree to your decision, I wish I had one last chance to have your ear, so that I could have impressed upon you your duty to your family. The decision is an irreversible one, and I can only now mourn the child I loved that is lost to me forever. Perhaps in the wake of your mother’s death, you were despondent with grief and sought the only thing that made you smile. I am very sorry my sweet Gugli, for not acknowledging your pain. As I will never lay eyes on you again, I wanted you to go into this very uncertain and unforgiving world with the thing you loved the most that was my own. Wear this dagger at your hip and know that in some way, I will always be at your side._

_Your Loving Father._

He left it unsigned. Gugli dropped the letter, and sat fully on the floor, his back against the wall. His whole body shook and Hannibal feared he was going into a panic. He knelt down in front of him, grabbing his head with both hands.

“Tell me what you need.”

He shook his head “I…I don’t. I can’t.”

Hannibal gestured to the letter. “May I?”

Gugli nodded. Hannibal read it quickly, understanding immediately the pain he must feel, even if he couldn’t share it.

“Did you know he thought this was of your own doing?”

Gugli looked up and him, his eyes wide with pain and just shook his head. He dropped his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself and Hannibal knew immediately he was trying to retreat—to put this with all the other pain behind the growing fortress in his mind. He grabbed Gugli by the shoulders roughly, trying to force him to look at him again.

“Do not run from this—allow yourself to feel all the hurt, the anger and incredible injustice of all of it. You can’t shut this away, it will destroy you. I’m here. I won’t let you perish, I promise you. Now what do you need?!”

Gugli pushed him away with every ounce of his strength and screamed “I DON’T KNOW!”

He laid back on the floor, not caring he probably resembled a toddler about to have a tantrum. The pain blackened his vision and he couldn’t see or feel anything else. He rolled to his side, clutching his chest, feeling like it would break in two as sobs shook his whole body. Hannibal moved to sit beside him, not touching him, but close enough for him to know he was there. Gugli’s words were most unintelligible, but he could make out the occasional “why?” When the sobs started to subside, Hannibal took a chance and put a hand carefully on his shoulder. Gugli reached over and grabbed his other hand, loosely at first, then as if it were his only lifeline.

For the first time Hannibal felt like he was fighting back tears of his own. Why such a beautiful, intelligent and talented young man should have to endure so much made him wonder if there was a truly a God after all. They stayed like that a long time, until Gugli finally sat up on his own. He picked up the dagger, weighing it carefully in his hands. He placed it back in its case but didn’t return it to the trunk. He stood with it in his hands and turned to look at his Maestro. 

“I…I think I should like to go to bed, if that’s ok.”

Hannibal nodded. “Should I ring for the valet?”

Gugli shook his head. “Not yet…I just want to lay down for a bit. Will you?…I don’t want to be alone just yet.”

“Of course.”

Gugli gave him a weak smile and crawled onto the bed, not bothering to get under the covers.

“James would lay down with me, when I was having a terrible day. I know its childish, and it’s terrible of me to ask. I’m just afraid to be alone with my thoughts, and…”

Hannibal gestured for him to be silent and sat on the edge of the bed. He removed his shoes and laid down beside him. Gugli pulled Hannibal’s arm around him and tried his best to let sleep take him, while he stared at the dagger he laid on his bedside table. 

**

When he woke a couple of hours later, Maestro Lecter was sitting up on his bed beside him, and he’d lain his head on his lap. Maestro put a tentative hand through his curls, seeing he was awake.

Gugli looked up and him, trying to stave off any embarrassment, though he found he felt none.

Hannibal gave him a gentle, sad smile. “How did this happen to you? I’d like you to tell me if you can.”

He closed his eyes, drawing on the strength of Hannibal—he’d never told a soul.

 “My brother….my brother did this.” He tried to keep his voice steady as he got the story out quickly. “He was jealous of me, always had been. My parents…they were not kind to him—I see that more clearly now. But I always was. I loved him and looked up to him as my older brother. But I see now he hated me. After my mother died, everything changed. My father pressed upon me that I now had to assume my role as first heir. The honor should have gone to Francis…but my father had no faith in him. Perhaps that’s when he began his plan for me. I still remember that night. I was so excited he’d invited me into town with him—I wasn’t allowed on my own. He took me to local tavern for a meal and let me have my first sip of wine. I felt so grown up, so happy. There was something in the wine…there must have been. I felt woozy soon, and eventually could barely keep my head up. I don’t remember much except waking in a room in the Cathedral with a strange man, a surgeon perhaps; my brother and Father Chilton. They were holding me down—I’d been stripped bare. Then the pain, the unimaginable pain…”

Hannibal kept stroking his hair, trying to keep his own anger at bay. He looked down to see if he wept, but his face was dry. His fingers were clinched tightly, but he remained strong.

“I hate him Maestro. What he did was monstrous and not what I deserved. I hope one day fate finds him and he’ll pay dearly for what he did.”

Hannibal tilted Gugli’s head towards him, meeting his gaze. “Perhaps you will be the one to bring him his fate.” 

Gugli laid his head back on Hannibal’s lap. “Perhaps.”

 

 **

  

Sfogliatelle  



	8. Debutto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A week...not so bad :) I'm going to try my best to stay on this schedule as things start to pick up.

The Lecter home was teaming with dozens of extra people, all there to help turn the estate into a beautiful show piece for the big debut. Hired servants were dressed in identical black and white frocks and tail coats, holding perfectly polished trays of the finest silver, bulging with smile bites of cheese, fruit and sweet wine to tide the guests over until the feast would begin. The kitchen staff were in the midst of applying the finishing touches to the elaborate meal, while hired bakers readied beautiful pastries and tarts. The grand centerpiece was to be the elaborate multi-tiered cake to celebrate a very special young man turning sixteen and coming of age. Such a cake was a rarity in Italy, but Hannibal had seen one on his travels to England and found a baker willing to take on the challenge. He wanted everything to be perfect, hoping the festivities would put Gugli in enough good spirits to keep any nerves at bay.

The young man in question was now lingering in a narrow hallway, watching as the great hall filled with richest and most noble Naples had to offer—all coming to hear him—as the invitation purported: _a singing angel unlike anything that’s been heard outside of heaven_. Gugli wanted to roll his eyes at the ridiculous words, but he was too terrified. He knew every note, every trill, every valley and peak and no doubt he’d sing it all correctly. But he knew, for this crowd, for his Maestro, it would not be enough. He knew why the song was chosen, aside from it being a favorite of Farinelli. The words were for him, and he only needed to allow himself to feel them, however painful. He closed his eyes and let the words full of pain and sadness wash over him.

 _Lascia ch'io pianga._ (Let me weep over) _  
mia cruda sorte,_ (my cruel fate) __  
e che sospiri  (and let me sigh for)  
la libertà. (liberty)  
  
Il duolo infranga  (May sorrow shatter)  
queste ritorte,  (these chains,)  
de' miei martiri. (for my torments)  
sol per pietà. (just out of pity.)

The song is meant for a man begging for the release of his greatest love, but the words spoke to him just the same. He caressed his father’s dagger that he’d fastened to his hip, just under his shockingly red frock coat. The color was chosen by him, a way to both accept his fate and honor it. To not shy away from the red sash that marked him as different. The pale cream waistcoat he wore was to signify a hope for the future, and the red roses entwined with dark thorns snaking in an embroidered pattern along the breast and flowing along the bottom, showed that it would not be an easy road. But it was one he hoped to face in his own way, and his beautiful unruly dark curls, flowing to his shoulders without even a simple ribbon to tame them, expressed this perfectly. The Gugli that would soon stand before them all, offering himself completely, was entirely him, and entirely of his own making.

* * *

 

Hannibal greeted his guests but kept a trained eye on Gugli. He was just out of sight, lurking in the shadows, but Hannibal could still make out his slender form. He promised to give him space this evening, and to spare him the task of greeting any guests, allowing for the first time anyone saw him to be when he sang. Farinelli had arrived and was already surrounded by adoring fans. Hannibal tried to imagine Gugli in his place, wondering how his beautiful obstinate boy would take to such flagrant adulation. Farinelli had sent a note earlier requesting his performance be moved to after Gugli, saying he wanted his debut to occur without his shadow. For that Hannibal was grateful, though Gugli didn’t seem put at ease. As the last of the guests arrived, Hannibal signaled for the workers to retreat to the kitchen and guided the guests to the main hall where rows of gilded chairs were set up in front of a small quartet.  

Gugli stayed in the little hallway where he could see and not be seen. In just a moment, Maestro would introduce him and he’d be expected to go out there and sing for them all, alone for the first time. No choir to back him, and no anonymity of the conservatoria to shield him. He’d be Gugli and would succeed or fail on his own merit.  Whatever the outcome, nothing would be the same after this night. He’d either plan a future where he’d aim to conquer all the opera stages of Europe, or ease into a simple quiet life as a musician or what he wasn’t sure. So, when the last sound of Hannibal’s introduction faded, and the first notes of the aria began, he walked into the room with the enormity of this moment weighing heavily on his shoulders. But he held himself up and looked past the crowd to the face of his Maestro and began the first slow note that cascaded up and fell into a melancholy tempo.

He opened himself to what the words truly meant, unafraid to feel for the first time. He was singing for the rest of his life and this was no time to hold back. He held Hannibal’ gaze and only his, letting the rest of the room blur into the background. He dedicated the song to him, understanding for the first time how much he’d given him, and how he was the only person to make him feel like a human being for the first time in many years. If the others in attendance were moved by his performance, he didn’t notice. But he saw his Maestro’s eyes shining with tears, as they had so long ago when he was just a boy.

As he finished the last lingering note, he was surprised to find his own cheeks were wet, but he only felt joy. Then the room exploded around him, and everyone was on their feet, and suddenly Farinelli was in front of him; kissing him on both cheeks before bowing deeply declaring that he was “humbled before him and that Italy was in safe hands as he could happily with gratitude pass the torch to this new treasure.” He was immediately surrounded—women were grabbing his cheeks and noble men were declaring him the best they’d heard since Farinelli’s debut. It was all overwhelming and he wanted nothing more but to escape back up to his rooms, but he held himself steady and smiled politely at his praise, praying silently for Hannibal to rescue him. His savior finally got the attention of the crowd, imploring them to follow him into the main dining room where they could celebrate properly. Gugli leaned against the wall as their smiling faces passed him, completely overwhelmed. Hannibal appeared in front of him, beaming at him proudly. “You have surpassed even my expectations dear boy. I am in awe.” He gave him a small bow handing him a glass of wine, that he took and gulped greedily. Hannibal only laughed and put an arm around him, steering him towards the dining hall.

“Slow down, or you won’t make it to cut your cake.”

Gugli nodded, but finished the glass, and smiled brightly at him.  
“Thank you…for everything. I only hope to continue to make you proud.”

Hannibal gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “You always have, Gugli.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of the evening passed in a glorious blur. After another embarrassing round of applause, and Farinelli declaring he could not possible take any thunder away from Gugli and refused to perform as promised after dinner. And dinner was indeed a feast. Gugli couldn’t remember ever eating so much in his life time, or drinking that much wine, but his glass kept appearing magically full, after he was sure he’d just emptied it. The cake was magnificent—four glorious layers of sugar and butter with a bright blue frosting, and possibly the best thing he’d ever ingested. Once the formality of dinner was over, most wandered back into the great hall where the chairs had been cleared to make way for dancing. Even light-headed from the wine, he only watched from the sidelines, doing a very good job of holding up the walls. Many implored him to join them in a waltz, but he only shook his head with a slightly off-kilter smile planted on his face, which mostly just made them laugh and leave him be. When the room tilted more than once he decided that perhaps it was time to get some air. He wandered away from the party to a large balcony towards the back of the house.  

The night air was a welcome respite from all the frenzied activity inside, and he breathed in a  large gulp of air as he took in the scenery below. The curve of the coastline could be seen from there, dotted with the small twinkling lights of late activity in the towns below. The conservatoria felt a lifetime away, even if it were only a few miles. He had wanted Peter to be there tonight, but Maestro insisted he would only be uncomfortable, but promised he could visit soon—though he felt that Maestro would prefer Peter never visit at all, though he couldn’t say why. He smiled into the gentle air—he felt good, and light for the first time in a very long time, and his head swam happily full of delicious sweet wine.  He only paused in his silent revelry when a tell-tale pressure on his bladder let itself be known. He smirked while unbuttoning his breeches looking over the balcony wondering if he aimed carefully, he could hit the top of the carriage below.  

“My! Did you know I was just behind you, or is this a happy coincidence?”

Gugli whirled around, both startled an embarrassed and hurried to button his pants, though his coordination wasn’t allowing for it. He gave up and pulled out his shirt and looked at his new guest, but found he had no idea what to say.

“I’m sorry sir, just getting some air.”

The man just smiled at him. He thought he remembered him from the audience. He carried himself like he was someone important, and Gugli hoped he hadn’t already tarnished his image, though the way he was staring at him made him very uncomfortable.

“No need to be embarrassed beautiful child, if anyone should be celebrating its you.” He moved closer, backing Gugli against the balustrade.

“I have not been moved so in my entire life, and your beauty!” He reached up and caressed his cheek; Gugli pulled away instinctively. “Exquisite, you will have all of Naples falling at your feet! And I only want to be the first to have a taste. You would grant me that, would you not?”

Gugli tried to shove the man away, completely alarmed now, but still not completely understanding what he wanted. “Sir…perhaps too much drink has made you forget yourself…”

But the man was stronger and he wrapped his large arms around Gugli, pressing his front against the railing, breathing his disgusting breath on his neck as he shoved his hand down the front of his breeches and latched on to his cock.

“My God…so much like a child, but every bit a man…” Gugli was so repulsed and terrified, he barely registered when his hand sought his dagger, until he felt the blade give against soft, swollen flesh. He could breathe again as the man staggered back, shocked, then started screaming in alarm. Gugli bolted through the balcony doors and kept going into the hall. He had no idea where he was running, but his feet seemed to be carrying him towards his rooms. Maestro was walking quickly into the hall after hearing the commotion—he’d been looking for him. He went to stop him, but Gugli kept going. Zellari said he’d go after him, knowing that one of their guests screaming bloody murder was the more pressing matter. Reluctantly, Hannibal followed the noise until he found Signore Vergeri clutching his belly as it bled profusely down his middle. Hannibal quickly shut the door, hoping the other guests hadn’t already been alerted.

“That boy is dead! Do you hear me Signore Lecter?! I will have his head for this! Who does he think he is?! He will bend as they all do! I will not tolerate this!”

Hannibal looked at him coolly. “And what exactly did you do for him to attack you?”

He looked incredulous. “What did I do! What I have every right to do! As head of the arts council AND the governing council of Naples, it is not for him to question me! Nor you! Now will you call for a surgeon, or must !?!”

Hannibal shoved his hand aside, trying his best to reign in his own temper, and took a look at the wound.

“It is merely a flesh wound, there is no need for a surgeon. A tight wrapping should do nicely. But more importantly, I must ask you to leave my home at once.”

“I beg your pardon!”

Hannibal leveled a look at him that caused Signore Vergeri to step back despite his false bravado. 

“You have violated my charge, and unless you want me to explain to all your very important friends how you took advantage and frightened the boy, that has only brought everyone here joy tonight, I suggest you leave quickly, without another word.” 

Hannibal handed him his own kerchief to help staunch the flow of blood. “Now.” He turned on his heels, ignoring his bumbling attempts at indignation and headed towards their living quarters.

He spotted Zellari in the hall and asked him to please make sure Signore Vergeri left at once. Zellari nodded, himself barely containing his own anger, and indicated Gugli was in his room.

The room was dark when Hannibal entered and at first he didn’t see him. Then he saw a shadow move by the window and spotted him sitting on the floor. He could tell he was trembling even from across the room. Hannibal’s vision went red, but he swallowed his anger—Gugli needed him now.

He was sitting against the wall, under the window, still clutching the dagger, stained with that vile man’s blood.

He looked up, his eyes wide in the dark. “I’m….I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

Hannibal knelt in front of him. “Do not be sorry. Don’t dare. You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one that is sorry. He is notorious for molesting young castrati, and I stupidly thought he wouldn’t try something so awful in my home, in the presence of his peers, but I grossly underestimated him. Please forgive me.”

“Why did he? What did he want? Why would he do such a thing?!”

Hannibal sat next to him on the floor. “There are a great many things I need to explain to Gugli, and I have been remiss not to do so sooner. We are so isolated here, I forgot to warn you about the rest of the world. Did he try to touch you?”

He nodded. “He shoved his hands down my pants…he grabbed my…is this what they all will do?!”

Hannibal gently removed the dagger from his still trembling fingers. “No, some will try and will accept your rejection. I promise you, I will explain all of this tomorrow. But you’ve had a long night, and too much wine. I think it best you get ready for bed.”

“But the guests…”

“I will take care of that. May I hug you? You are still trembling.”

Gugli nodded and allowed Hannibal to wrap his arms around him and he sagged against his chest. He kissed the top of his head, then helped them both up.

“Should I send Zellari, or would you rather ready for bed on your own?”

“I’d rather be alone for now…but will you come back later to say goodnight?”

Hannibal smiled. “I promise.” He went to leave and Gugli stopped him.

“Han..Maestro, I…I must confess something that worries me.” Hannibal turned and looked at him puzzled.

Gugli dropped his voice to a near whisper, as if he was afraid God would hear.

“I wanted to push the dagger in deeper, but I wasn’t strong enough. I…wanted him dead.”

**

The next morning, the entire town should have been buzzing with Gugli’s triumphant debut, and there was much talk of the remarkable young man who put Farinelli to shame. But all of that was overshadowed by the gruesome discovery of Signore Vergeri’s body, displayed over the Cathedral’s doors, eviscerated and naked, save his signature frock coat, with his own cock stuffed in his mouth. Everyone was terrified because they were now convinced, the great slayer in Florence, with his rumored dragon wings had finally come to Naples.

 

**

 

As close as I can come to what he may have sounded like singing the song. [Enjoy](https://youtu.be/pYPVn0wURt4)


	9. Amati

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know, no point in excuses, but my extra time is taken up with working on a Fannibal convention, so maybe I can be forgiven? The next chapter is mostly written if that helps. All I do promise is this will never be abandoned, I have it outlined, its a matter of finding enough time to write the chapters on a reasonable schedule. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks to those who are still reading. This part sort of concludes 'Part 1' and we will next delve into Gugli's career...and well it'll finally earn its E rating. 
> 
> Comments are like blood and breadth :) Thank you in advance.

If anyone is curious about the song Gugli sang--here is boy soprano Aksel Rykkvin singing the same song [Enjoy!](https://youtu.be/pYPVn0wURt4)

Dedicated to [ElectraRhodes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraRhodes)

 

**

Hannibal hadn’t slept at all. The excitement and rush of the night before still thrummed through his veins. This may have been his finest work to date, and he knew because for once there was real passion behind the kill. He’d wanted to eviscerate Mason for years; for his foul mouth, his lecherous hands and his general lack of humanity. It unfortunately had been too risky, Mason had too many friends in very high places. But when he saw his Gugli trembling and terrified because that pig dared to touch him in the most vulgar way—ruining a night that should have only been his triumph; he knew his time in this world needed to end.

The display was perfection. His final act had been to remove Mason’s cock while he screamed in agony behind a gag, then replaced the gag with his severed cock, watching as he slowly suffocated on it. No death had ever been more just.  His only regret was that at his return, he’d heard Gugli wrestling with a nightmare, but he was still covered in the remnants of Mason’s demise and couldn’t go to him. By the time he returned to his room, Gugli had settled back into a deep slumber. He sat by his bed for a while, petting his curls gently, swearing a silent oath that no harm or humiliation would ever touch him again.

**

The sun had long since brightened the sky by the time Guigli woke the next morning. There were no lessons or any obligations today—he could do exactly as he pleased. Just yesterday he’d looked forward to this day off, thinking he might walk to the village or venture out to the small pond past the gardens, but now, he needed this respite for an entirely different reason. He was loathed now to even get out of bed. Last night felt like a strange nightmare that’s memory still made him tremble. He still felt the ghost of that disgusting hand on his cock and the putrid breath on the back of his neck making him spring to sudden action, praying a bath had been drawn and was waiting. He made his way towards the bath chamber when his door opened. Zellari walked in holding two fresh bath sheets and a pot of oil, slightly startled to see Guigli already up and heading for the bath. He smiled gently and nodded a quiet “good morning” to him. 

“I’ve just run your bath, so its’ still quite warm. Would you like assistance?” A small chill went through him at the thought of anyone touching him just yet and he shook his head. Zellari looked at him sympathetically but only smiled and handed him the things he carried.

“Just let one of the maids know when you’re ready for breakfast. You can take it here or join Hannibal in the garden. He’s taking his meal there.”

Gugli went to nod, but finally managed a small “Thank you.” And disappeared into the bath chamber.

He undressed quickly and slipped into the waiting steaming water, taking the small pot of oil with him. It smelled like jasmine with a touch of earthiness and he wondered if its essence came from the garden. He slid down in the tub until all but his head was submerged. The house was eerily quiet with only the occasional chirp of a bird to disrupt the silence, counter to the storm raging inside his head. His brain was fighting not to wake—not to think about everything that happened. How can the best and worst things happen in the same evening? He wished he’d never gone off on his own so carelessly and so vulnerable from too much wine. Both shame and anger still coursed through him, but a large part of him felt terrified. Not of that man, but of what he wanted—what he would have done if he’d only possessed the strength. He doubted even Maestro Hannibal could protect him if he’d done such a thing. He didn’t want to dwell on why that was his foremost concern and not the fact he had wanted to take a man’s life. Perhaps he truly didn’t and it only seemed like he wanted that because of how angry and scared he’d been. He slipped completely under the water, trying desperately to clear his head and wash the unwanted touches off his skin.

He finally emerged from the bath when the water grew cold, toweling off quickly and putting on a simple outfit of a white linen shirt and cream breeches, forgoing stockings and shoes. He headed towards the garden, letting a passing maid know he’d like his breakfast, or perhaps lunch, depending the time, out there. He ignored her concerned gaze at his naked feet and kept walking.

Hannibal sat quietly at a table near the garden, as maids served him from an assortment of fruit, meats and pastries. He looked up at Gugli as he approached, slightly bemused at his casual attire. 

“Zellari couldn’t help you find your shoes? Or stockings I see.”

Gugli shrugged, attempting a smile that didn’t want to come. “I wanted to feel the grass beneath my feet. It’s been too long.” 

Hannibal tried to school his face and not let his worry show, because he looked very troubled, as he had every right to be. 

“Today is a day of leisure, so there’s no need for cumbersome shoes or stockings. Are you hungry?” 

He honestly didn’t know if he was. “I…just some fruit I think.” 

Hannibal frowned but said nothing, serving him a few pieces of fruit himself, adding some bread and cheese.

Gugli glanced at him, but said nothing, and began nibbling on the fruit. Hannibal gestured for the servants to leave them, wanting the privacy to speak about the previous night. But he looked over at the boy, unsure of where to begin. He sat there with his bare feet in the chair, looking as withdrawn as he’d seen him the first time he’d laid eyes on him at the conservatoria. If that worthless swine had undone all his hard work then perhaps the end he met was far too good for him. He’d let it be known beyond their tight social circles just what a pig he truly was, hopefully tarnishing whatever good image he had left.

He decided to ease into the conversation slowly and instead picked up a lock of his still damp hair, sitting heavily on his shoulders.

“You need a trim.” 

Gugli looked up and touched his own hair, frowning. 

“Just a trim. I think your hair should be part of your signature. No one wears it as you do, everyone was very taken with it. Will you allow it?” 

He held Hannibal’s gaze for a moment, seeing everything in his eyes he wanted to say and simply nodded. 

Hannibal smiled and speared a piece of sausage.

“Maestro…?”

Hannibal looked up, keeping quiet, but imploring him to continue.

“I’m not…I’m unsure how to feel about…what I did…” And all at once he realized the full implications of what happened. He’d stabbed a man—a very important man…and he had no idea.. Gugli suddenly looked very alarmed.

“Maestro! What happened to that man?!...the Carabenieri, they will come won’t they?”

Hannibal looked at him coolly and took a sip of his tea. “You needn’t worry about that. Signore Vergeri was very much in the wrong. I threw him out of the house immediately. Besides, he is dead. They found him this morning.”

Gugli eyes grew impossibly wide and he started trembling. “But…the cut, it wasn’t that…”

Hannibal realized what he neglected to say and squeezed his shoulders reassuringly. “Oh no…no Gugli, it wasn’t you. You only gave him a flesh wound. Signore Vergeri had many enemies, as vile as he was. Someone must have been waiting for him to arrive home after the celebration, hoping he was too full of wine to be much of a threat. His body was found, mutilated this morning. He’s no longer anyone’s concern. I’m sure many young castrati will sigh with relief.”

Gugli’s eyes retained their exaggerated roundness as he tried to take everything in. “Dead…”

Hannibal looked at him carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. “I’m afraid so...”

Gugli sat and said nothing for a few minutes, attempting to work his face into a frown—a frown he didn’t feel, and a concern he didn’t feel.

“What is it?” Hannibal leaned a bit closer.

He kept his eyes trained on his plate, then slowly lifted his eyes to meet Hannibal’s. He saw no judgement there, only genuine concern.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Perhaps I’m just too angry? But I can’t…I want to be sorry, but I can’t find anything but…glee. I’m happy he’s dead. What he did to me…it was disgusting and unfair, and if he did far worse to others, then why should he live?” 

Hannibal said nothing at first—too proud to speak. He didn’t bother to hide the smile in his eyes, when he looked back at him.

“Am I terrible?”

Hannibal reached over and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear, keeping the gesture as fatherly as he could manage.

“No, dear boy. What he did was unforgiveable, and you are right—he’s done far worse to those even younger than you. He was always thought of as untouchable, so I am relieved he finally met his end. My only regret is that his end came too late to spare you. I am truly sorry Gugli.” 

A small smile finally broke through the seriousness he’d been carrying since the night before. “It’s not your fault, Maestro. I don’t blame you. I just…I still don’t understand what he was expecting.” 

Ah yes, the talk he promised him. He’d never had to speak about sex to a sixteen-year-old, let alone a castrato. But he’d obviously been left completely uneducated about any of it. 

“If you’re finished your breakfast, let’s go for a walk.”

 

** 

They followed the garden path to the pergola that traveled along the sea wall at the edge of the property—Gugli’s favorite place. Taking a seat on a stone bench facing the sea, Hannibal gestured for Gugli to sit next to him. There sat there in silence, just taking in the view, neither in a rush to begin what wouldn’t be an easy conversation. Hannibal watched his profile for a while, framed against the sea below and shadowed by the sunlight slipping through the vines wrapped around the pergola. He was stunning. There was simply no other word for it. The beauty he possessed was both a blessing and more often a curse—its time he realized it. 

“You are beautiful Gugli.”

Gugli looked at Hannibal with a frown that morphed into a look of bewilderment, then disgust as he shook his head. 

“I don’t know why you would say such a thing Maestro. I’m at best a curiosity.” 

“Gugli. Look at me. I know you think yourself an abomination, but you are far from it. If you had been left intact, you would most likely look no different and be thought a very handsome young man. But you are now this very young, ethereal creature, made even more beautiful by your uniqueness. Its why Vergeri sought you out and why many others, both male and female will seek your attentions. Many will be polite about it, but most others may think they can simply take what they want. I need you to understand this, so you may protect yourself in the future.” 

Gugli shook his head, trying hard to understand but failing. “But what do they want? Do they all want to grab my cock as he did? It’s nothing Maestro…I assure you.”

Hannibal bit back a smile, not wanting to embarrass the boy. “How much do you know about sex?”

A faint blush heated his cheeks. “I know very little I’m afraid. James or my father most likely would have talked to me before my twelfth birthday, but …and I know I can never father a child, so I can never marry. I believe it is illegal for us to marry, is it not?”

He nodded, aware of the very unjust law. “It is, but I am not speaking of marriage. You are not beholden to the natural laws of the land, as you defy its very nature. I know you may have tried some things with that boy, Peter, at the Conservatoria—no need to be embarrassed, I understand perfectly, but I only wondered exactly what he showed you.”

Gugli eyes went comically wide and his cheeks burned crimson. “Maestro…I…”

“You are sharing my home now Gugli, I think it’s time you called me Hannibal.”

“What? Oh…I…he only.” He took a large gulp of air determined to stop being a child about the whole thing. He did want answers, even if he was unsure of the questions.

“He only touched me…but not like. I was just afraid to do it myself, I think.” He glanced at Hannibal before quickly losing his nerve and averting his eyes. “I always assumed that what was done to me rendered my…my cock, useless. He only wanted to assure me that wasn’t true. I let him, and it felt good…I was surprised. I’m sorry.”

Hannibal tamped down his feelings of utter outrage and jealousy that he allowed someone else—someone, unworthy, to touch him, focusing instead on that it hadn’t gone very far.

He smiled, and gently tousled his hair. “There is no need to be sorry. Believe me, I understand. And if you love him or feel some deep affection for him…”

Gugli truly looked confused. “No…I mean, Peter is a dear friend, but, do you mean as a man feels for a woman?”

Hannibal simply nodded.

“Oh…I mean I don’t believe so. I care about him of course—he was always so kind to me, but no, I don’t think so. Is that something that can happen?”

“Love or lust can happen between anyone. Many—both men and women will fall in love with your beauty and your remarkable talent. I only want you to be aware, so that no one can manipulate you. Once you make your official debut, your life will never be the same. You need to be able to tell friend from foe. Do you understand?”

“I think so. So, Vergeri was driven by his lust to attack me?”

“His lust but mostly his arrogance in thinking he can do whatever he likes to anyone. The worse sort of human being. Luckily that caused his undoing.”

Gugli said nothing for a few moments, trying to make sense of everything he’s been told in light of the events the night before.

“What about you? You said I was beautiful. Is that how you see me?”

Hannibal thought to lie and tell him about how he admired all forms of beauty but instead replied with a simple “Yes.” and left the interpretation to Gugli. 

His breath caught in this throat at that with little understanding as to why. His cheeks pinked again, and he became very interested in the stone bench, before he finally looked up at Hannibal with a slight frown “Like a painting…or?”

“You are my young charge, Gugli, and while I find your beauty often intoxicating, and your mind sharp and delightful—I can only admire it, not act on it.”

Gugli looked at him like he was suddenly seeing the thing he’d always found hidden beneath his placid expressions come to life.

“Because of my age?”

“That is big consideration, yes.”

Gugli rose from the bench, turning this new discovery over in his mind. “I won’t always be this age. Shall we go back? I think I’d like to eat a bit more.”

Hannibal let out a soft exasperated laugh. He could never predict this boy. He rose and followed, steering him down another path closer to the sea before they would finally take the one that led back to the house.

He loved this part of the property especially. There was a natural curve that ended in a steep drop to the small beach below. The woodsy smell of the cypress trees was most pungent here and he often liked to walk this path in the evenings as the sun set and get lost in thought. The atmosphere appeared to be catching as Gugli had paused in front of the deepest part of the incline and settled on a small rock at its edge.

“Is something troubling you Gugli?” He hoped he hadn’t said too much. The affection he felt for the boy was new even to him, and not something he’d taken the time to examine yet. He only found himself telling the truth when asked.

“I’m worried Maestro…I’m sorry, Hannibal.” The name still felt strange on his tongue.

Hannibal joined him on the ground, deigning to soil his britches. “What has you worried?”

“What I told you last night. Was it really only last night? Or more, what I felt? I…should I be concerned that in an instant, I would have killed a man?”

How he wished he’d been there to witness this fierce boy try to take down Vergeri. Of course, had he been there, Vergeri wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near him.

“You were protecting yourself, and rightfully angry and alarmed. You had no way of knowing his intention—though I know very well, had you not stabbed him, he would have raped you as he’d done to so many others. What you did, does not make you a monster; it makes you very brave.”

“I didn’t feel very brave. I hated feeling so terrified—and now what I wished has come true. He’s dead. And again, I want to feel badly, but I can’t. All I can think is _good_.”

“You are not alone in that sentiment Gugli. He was the worst kind of person and hurting someone that terrible should never feel bad. You did the right thing, and I am very proud of you.”

Hannibal leaned over and kissed him gently on his forehead, grabbing his dark curls in both hands. Gugli closed his eyes in relief, appeased for now that he was not a monster, at least not that kind. He leaned his head against Hannibal’s shoulder, waiting for the moment his beloved teacher would tell him he was being childish and make him move. But that moment never came. Hannibal merely slipped a lose arm around his shoulder and they sat there watching the sun slip beneath the dark blue waters.

 

**

The atmosphere in Naples changed overnight. No longer did its citizens revel and languish in activities until just before dawn. Shops and restaurants shuttered as soon as the first hint of darkness spread through the city. The grotesque brutality of Vergeri’s death, however welcomed by most, terrified everyone as there could no longer be any doubt that the terrible monster of Florence- _il drago rosso_ had finally made its way to their shores.  Hannibal watched the changes in the city with amused interest, wondering how he could draw this monster to their city. But the monster in question watched from his perch in Florence as news of this terrific murder made its way north. Though he found the other news even more intriguing. A new voice had been found in Naples. This young beautiful, and as yet unnamed new song bird, rumored to surpass the likes of Farinelli and Cafarelli. _Il Drago Rosso_ wondered what name the boy would choose for his debut, and if he would choose one to honor the family now lost to him.  He stood now in the shadow of the Duomo as rage filled his veins with the knowledge that despite his best efforts that boy still found fame and happiness—that the universe still slighted him and favored the now mutated child. A new determination gripped him, knowing what his new path should be. He would be there the night his dear brother made his debut, and make sure this bright light never saw another Napoli sunrise.

 

**

 

 

 

 

 


	10. sfida

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much if you're still with me. Its twice as long as normal, so that's something :D 
> 
> Comments are wonderful if you're so moved. :)

“No.”

Looking very defiant, Gugli stood in front of the full-length mirror in his dressing room, glaring at the dressing dummy that stood next to a very flustered tailor and a very un-amused Maestro.

With a nervous smile and shaky voice, Signore Froideveaux, tried to appeal to the young man one more time.

“Signore, please. If you would only…”

“No.”

Hannibal sighed, gently steering Signore Froideveux towards the door. “Signore, if you would excuse us. I’d like to have a word with the boy alone. Please wait in the sitting room.”

Signore Froideveaux looking very concerned and exasperated hurried out the door.

“Gugli…”

“I’m not wearing _that_ , and there is nothing you can say to convince me.”

For once he didn’t find Gugli’s fiery nature the least bit charming. He’d had quite enough of his defiance lately. Especially since quite a bit of coin was spent on the focus of his ire.

“As I’ve explained, it is customary, and Signore Froideveaux has spent a great deal of time on this creation.” 

“I don’t care about the custom. I am not a girl and I am not wearing a dress!”

Taking a deep breath, Hannibal tried to quell his anger before he gave into it and strangled him. In the two months since the incident with Vergeri and with his debut becoming a reality, his often-impish boy had become all sharp points and barbed looks. He’d even taken to sleep walking again. Only now, he always ended up in Hannibal’s bed. Somehow, the gentleness he refused to show during the day, surfaced when he was most vulnerable.

The first time it happened, he’d entered Hannibal’s room and stood at the end of the bed, staring with unseeing eyes, until Hannibal gently whispered his name, and guided him towards the bed try and coax him back to sleep. The next time, he walked straight to the bed and crawled under the covers, seeking out Hannibal’s warmth in the darkness before slipping into a deep slumber. Those nights always ended with Hannibal carrying him back to his own room just before the sun painted the sky. He never even stirred when he was gently laid back in his own bed. It was becoming clear, that he needed a comfort he wouldn’t permit himself to seek from his teacher. He was still barely more than a child, and his childhood had been cut short by an unspeakable trauma. Though at times Hannibal wondered the innocence of these nights, as he often found Gugli’s hand traveling beneath his nightshirt in his sleep, gently tugging the soft hair on his chest. Once or twice Hannibal had been awakened by an accidental brush of a nipple and thought he should put a stop to this nighttime practice. But so far, he hadn’t.

Watching him now, he knew tonight he would come to him. It usually followed days like this when he was over-tired and over-stressed. Handel’s music had been delivered that morning, so they’d been practicing non-stop since breakfast, only stopping for the now disastrous fitting. Gugli was still staring at the “dress” and Hannibal knew he should intervene before he kicked it over.

“Sit.”

Gugli glanced at him once but sat down on settee—he knew when Maestro had reached the limit of his patience. 

“Every castrato, including Farinelli and even Cafarelli has made their debut wearing a very similar garment. It is not a dress as you call it. It is merely a full set of skirts with matching breeches—it is the traditional costume and I’ve grown tired of your objections.” 

His anger had given way to a troubled look and a burgeoning pout. Hannibal preferred anger—he was rarely any match for his pouting.

“But why must we do the expected? I want to be different. I don’t want to do what every castrato has done before me. Please Maestro can we simply modify it? I want to feel like myself on stage, and I cannot, wearing…that.”

He should have considered a career in politics—who could refuse him? But perhaps there was opportunity to turn this into something people would talk about for decades to come. So, Hannibal caved.

“If you can provide a sketch of what you’d like, I’ll consider it. But these tantrums have to stop, you’re not a child and I don’t expect you to behave like one. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Maestro.” 

“Good. Please apologize profusely to Signore Froideveaux for your abhorrent behavior, and I’ll promise to let him know how we’ll proceed by tomorrow.”

“Of course, Maestro. I truly am sorry.” 

Hannibal knew he wasn’t the least bit sorry, but let it go.

It didn’t take much to appease Signore Froideveaux. One pleading look from a very earnest Gugli with the promise that he’d get to create something unlike anything that’d ever graced an Italian stage, and he was sent away practically falling over himself with gratitude. Hannibal couldn’t help but smile at such an obnoxious display—Gugli would have all of Naples at his feet in no time.

 

* * *

 

His mood continued to plummet in the following days, buoyed only briefly by a weekend visit from his old friend Peter from the Conservatoria. Hannibal finally permitted a visit, after exhausting all efforts to make him civil. He’d been all smiles and giggles as he showed Peter around the estate and gave chase to him in the garden. Hannibal watched with growing annoyance as they wrestled on the grass, ruining an expensive pair of cream breeches before disappearing into Gugli’s rooms, where they insisted on bunking together during Peter’s stay. Hannibal would never admit to lingering outside the rooms late that evening, listening to the soft laughter that finally gave way to breathless moans. And he absolutely didn’t plot ways to display Peter’s mangled body well into the wee hours of the morning. Still, it was nice to see a smile on his face, even if the cause made Hannibal feel murderous. But only a few days later, Gugli was back to his surly self.

Hannibal was never thought to be a lenient man, and Gugli’s behavior– or rather his allowing of it, began to elicit sidelong glances from his staff. So perhaps this fueled his anger, causing him to push him harder in his lessons, under the guise of preparing him for his debut. It all came to a head one afternoon, when a very exhausted Gugli kept missing a note, faltering before the all-important crescendo. He begged for a break, but Hannibal insisted he try once more, cracking his baton on the music stand. He foolishly expected the usual glare or pout before doing as he was told, but instead Gugli swept his hand across the stand, sending sheets of music fluttering into the air and nearly screamed, “I’m fucking tired!” Hannibal didn’t remember when he moved, but suddenly he’d thrown his baton across the room, sending the music stand clattering to the floor and grabbed him roughly by the arm when he tried to leave. Those impossibly blue eyes stared at him wildly; first full of fear—a look he never wanted to see again; then rage and disbelief. When Gugli tried to pull away, he let him, not stopping him as he ran out of the room.

**

He didn’t go to him right away, still too shocked at his own behavior. When he finally did, later that evening he found Gugli’s bedchamber doors locked, and the room silent behind them. Hannibal stood outside the doors a long while, unsure of what to do. He finally spoke his regrets to a silent audience, hoping he heard them, and understood how deeply he hated his actions. But he got no reply, so eventually he returned to his own rooms, hoping things would be better in the morning.

He listened, sitting on the floor in his favorite corner, knees drawn up under his chin. He hadn’t bothered to light a candle to chase off the darkness. He welcomed it, like a heaviness wrapped around him, protecting him. Maestro sounded very unlike himself. His voice was soft, but edged with an earnestness he’d never heard before. He fought those words; fought his understanding of them, until his anger ebbed away and he only heard the quiet anguish of the man that had become his friend and savoir.

“…My anger and frustration is only with myself, and to take it out on you was the act of a coward, something I never thought I could be. You have changed me, in ways that are both wonderful and terrible, through no fault of your own. I can’t explain the true nature of my torment, because it would unfairly burden you. I can only plead your forgiveness and hope that you understand that I am human at times, given to the folly of all men. You are a treasure to me, always, and I am grateful you entered my life. I hope you know that, and know that I care for you as deeply as my own flesh. That I have hurt you is unforgiveable, yet I am asking you to forgive, in the hopes that eventually I’ll allow myself that forgiveness. Well…I’ll leave you now. Tomorrow is yours to choose. Goodnight, sweet boy.”

He listened to his retreating footsteps, as tears threatened to spill, and felt an overwhelming sense of regret. He’d pushed too far—had been pushing too far. He knew he appeared stubborn and ungrateful and that even Hannibal’s patience wasn’t infinite. He cared very much for him, and not just because he’d given him his first real home since leaving Florence, and his first real chance at a future. In the moments when it was just the two of them, without the music, sharing a meal outside, or taking a walk along the sea cliff, he’d grown to truly like and admire this man.  In the morning he would accept his apology and offer one of his own. For now as he felt the soreness of his arm when he moved it—saw the beginning of a bruise when he shed his shirt to get ready for an evening bath. He’d let Hannibal suffer the night for his actions.

**

“Signore? The young master has requested dinner in his room. Is he unwell?”

Hannibal had retired to his study to compose letters he had neglected, though he hadn’t made it past _Dear Signore_ on the current one.

“No, he’s fine, but I’ve given him the evening to himself, so do whatever he wishes.” 

“Is everything alright Signore? Forgive me, I heard some shouting earlier.”

Hannibal sighed, laying down his quill. Zellari had been with him since arriving in Italy, and was more than simply a valet, he was often a confident and companion, as he found it difficult to trust anyone. He’d trust Zellari with his life. 

“I’m afraid I made a huge error with Gugli. He pushed my buttons as usual and this time I lost my temper.”

While he didn’t move from his position near the door, Zellari relaxed his stance a bit to encourage Hannibal to continue if he wished.

“That was bound to happen. He is for the most part a very charming, sweet boy, but he can be downright hellish at times, if you’ll permit me to say so.”

Hannibal looked a little amused. “Its only the truth, so you have my permission. Still, I don’t like to lose control like that. I actually grabbed him; hard enough to cause a bruise I’m sure. The one thing I never wanted him to expect from me is violence. I only hope he can forgive me.”

“Signore, Gugli is no fool. I’m sure he realizes he overstepped to have you react in such a way. I’m sure he’ll not only accept your apology, but offer one of his own by tomorrow.” 

“I hope you’re right.”

He made to leave to begin giving orders for dinner. “I usually am.”

A thought made him stop in the threshold, and he turned to Hannibal, looking a little unsure but determined.

“Signore…I did have an idea the other day. I’m not sure if it’d be helpful, but I think it may.”

Hannibal gestured for him to continue.

“I don’t mean this to be arrogant, but you have me Signore—to confide in I mean, someone who will listen to you without judgment. Its often one of the most important roles of a valet, and while I don’t mind tending to him, its not the same as him having someone of his own. Aside from you, he is alone in this house, and that can’t be easy for someone so young who is going through so much right now. I don’t doubt he can speak to you, but you are well invested in what he’s doing. Perhaps an impartial ear would help him.”

Hannibal had considered this himself, but he wondered about Gugli’s general aversion to new people, and worried he’d find it difficult to trust someone who needed such personal access right away. He was still self-conscious about the physical aspects of his status, though less so around Hannibal. He hadn’t allowed Zellari to assist him in dressing so far or with his bath, and he didn’t think a total stranger would have much luck. Though there was definitely truth in what he was saying, he just didn’t know if a favorable outcome would be possible.

Noticing Hannibal’s hesitation, he continued on. “Signore, I actually have someone in mind. But I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, but I’ve already made a few inquiries and should have a better idea soon.”

“Would you care to share who this is with me? Or do you intend to bring some strange person into my home without consulting me?” He didn’t say it sternly, but with a slight air of amusement.

“Of course not Signore. I just don’t want to get hopes up. Please give me a week and I promise I will discuss it with you.”

His interest was definitely piqued, but he trusted Zellari would tell him when he needed to.

“Fine, make whatever inquiries necessary on my behalf.”

“Thank you sir.” He left with one of his wry smiles on his face.

 

* * *

 

Gugli didn’t come to him that night, mainly because he hadn’t slept. He was too upset, and his thoughts wouldn’t quiet—not entirely because of what happened with Maestro. He knew a lesser man would have slapped him hard enough to send him across the room by now, so he considered the bruise on his arm a blessing. He’d been staring at it as he sat in a now tepid bath for the past hour, watching it bloom under the glow of candlelight. He knew he should probably get out of the bath before the water grew completely cold, but he still reveled in the luxury of the large painted marble tub, after years at the conservatoria with only a washbasin in his room. It reminded him of the times he spent with James, who always indulged his bath time, regaling him with stories and letting him bring small toys in with him to practice waging war on the vast seas. Even the oils and flowers were the same scents he remembered and he wondered if Hannibal had purposefully found flowers from his homeland.  It would be something he’d do. He was always doing small things like that—thoughtful attention to details that made him smile, without ever calling attention to them.

He climbed out of the bath finally, wrapping a large towel around him. He sat in front of the fireplace, not bothering to dress yet, letting the fire warm him as he stoked the embers, bringing the dying flame to life. He watched the flames, wishing he could feign sleepwalking and crawl into Hannibal’s bed. The thought surprised him, and he wasn’t sure what he wanted exactly. The times he’d awakened, with his head resting on Hannibal’s chest, with his fingers entwined in the soft hair there—hair he’d never grow, he’d felt comforted and safe, but also something else. The same warm feeling in his belly when Matthew touched him privately in his room, surfaced then too, though he couldn’t understand why. Or he did know, but didn’t want to name it. It filled him with shame and made him wonder if what the priests and some of the older boys at the conservatoria said about his kind was true. He’d heard the older boys talking; saying castrati were best for _singing and fucking_ , though at the time he didn’t know what the latter word meant. Asking one of the priests got him his first real beating. He did learn soon enough what it meant, if not entirely understanding. One boy often teased him saying he was so pretty it would be easy for any aristocrat to bend him over and pretend he was a girl. None of it made sense, but still it filled him with shame. He knew somehow if these feelings for Hannibal were connected to what he did with Matthew; then the priests were right.

And he was so much older, so by all rights he should only look at him as a father, since he did provide for him, but that wasn’t how he saw him. So he took his shame and anger out on him, and his fear. He was terrified his future would be full of more Vergeri’s and perhaps he’d eventually have to comply. Is that what the secret life of a castrati became? The thought made him ill. If anyone was to touch him in that way, it would have to be Hannibal, and no other.  He closed his eyes, suddenly grown tired by his silent admission.  The sky was beginning to lighten beyond his windows, though the room was still draped in darkness. He stood, letting his towel drop to the floor, and climbed beneath his warm covers, wondering if he should try and touch himself for the first time, but the thought slipped away as his head sank deeper into the pillow with his sudden slumber.

**

The sun sat high in the sky and still he slept. Finally after, each rap on his door going unanswered; Hannibal decided to enter, fearing the worse. He’d slept poorly imagining various scenarios where Gugli had run off in the night and was now braving the dark streets of Naples alone. But when entered, there he was, still asleep, with the covers twisted between his long limbs, with one long thin arm stretched out across the mattress. It was unlike him to miss breakfast, so Hannibal approached cautiously worried that he wasn’t well. He gently stroked his cheek, pausing when he saw the blooming dark bruise on his upper arm. He dropped his hand then, ready to retreat, but Gugli finally stirred, gazing sleepily at him without any hint of anger in his eyes.

“Its after ten o’clock. You are welcome to sleep, but I only wanted to make sure you weren’t ill.”

He sat up slowly, letting the comforter slip down to his torso, forgetting he hadn’t bothered with a nightshirt. Hannibal tried not to look at the expanse of soft pale skin, with a faint blush spreading across his chest. Gugli rubbed his eyes, blinking at him, letting the room come into focus as the fog lifted from his brain.

“I’m sorry Maestro.” The words came out before he had a chance to think of them.

“There’s no need. I’d hope we’d take the day off.”

“No…for my behavior. I’m really sorry.” 

Hannibal hadn’t expected an apology to come so easily. He sat next to him on the bed, brushing an errant curl away from his eyes. 

“I’m the one who’s sorry. It pains me to see what I did to your arm. I truly am sorry I lost my temper.”

Gugli glanced at his arm and shrugged. “Its not as bad as it looks. I don’t blame you Hannibal. I’ve been awful lately.”

“No one should ever put a hand on you for any reason, not even not me.” He gently grabbed his chin, turning his head to look at him directly. “You never deserve to be hurt. I’m sorry I made you feel as if you did.” 

He nodded, and gave him a small smile. 

“Now, have you slumbered enough? Or shall I leave the draperies closed and let you sleep a little longer?”

“No, I’m awake, and very hungry.” He swept back the covers then instantly realized he was very naked still and hurriedly covered himself again.

Hannibal chuckled softly and picked his nightshirt off a nearby chair and handed it to him.

“As often as I’ve spoken to you while you’re in the bath, you’re suddenly shy?”

He slipped the shirt over his head and stood. “That’s different. I’m quite covered in the bath.” He scoffed at Hannibal’s raised eyebrow and smile as he headed towards the dressing room. 

“And don’t forget I’ve steered you back to bed completely nude when you sleepwalked.” 

That made him stop and turn in alarm, a full blush spreading rapidly towards his neck. “What? When?”

“At the conservatoria—twice in fact. I imagine your attic room grew quite warm at times.”

He cursed his tendency to sleep in the nude back then.

“I’m…” He didn’t know what to say. Hannibal walked over and grabbed his cheeks, openly laughing at him now.

“I promise you I was a perfect gentleman.”

His eye grew wide. “That isn’t what I was…I’m glad you find this so amusing.” He hurried over to his wardrobe, wondering if he could climb inside and never come out.

“I’m sorry, but honestly, there is nothing to be embarrassed about. You are not the first naked male I’ve seen, and I tend to bathe now and again.”

He looked down then, unable to find the mirth in any of it. “Yes, but you’re whole…and I’m…”

“Beautiful, Gugli. Very beautiful—all of you. Now it seems I must apologize again. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Get dressed and come downstairs when you’re ready. I’ll have them serve on the back veranda.” He smiled again, gently, and left him to dress.

**

After a late breakfast, or early lunch, they decided to take a walk over to the small pond at the southern end of the property. The day was warm and bright with the first blush of spring. They spoke of the work they’d return to tomorrow, and the new pieces they needed to work on. Gugli humming a few notes he’d been trying to work out. It made Hannibal realize he had been working him too hard, and moments like this would only help his performance in the end. Though mostly, he enjoyed the simple, relaxed conversation. He stopped at a stone bench by the water’s edge, where Gugli removed his shoes and stockings and went to stand on the boulder sitting halfway in the pond. Hannibal watched him as he picked up small rocks and tossed them into the water, playing some made up game only he seemed to know.

“I used to be better at this. James showed me once how to make the pebbles skip across the water—I never tired of doing it.”

It may have been the first time he mentioned James to him in such casual conversation.  

“Do you miss him?”

He didn’t turn around, but paused in his rock skipping. “I miss everything about that time. But it’s lost to me now.”

Hannibal rose from the bench and walked over to him, and helped down off the boulder. “I want you to be happy. You deserve happiness, but you have to help me find it for you. What can I do?”

To his surprise, he wrapped his arms around Hannibal, and leaned his head against his chest, closing his eyes.

“I want to know…I want you to tell me that the way I am is Ok. Not just because I can sing, but because it doesn’t change who I am. That I can still be me.”

He looked up at him finally; seeking some sort of answer, and momentarily, the beauty in the purity of his gaze left Hannibal speechless. The earnestness in those eyes did not match the unchanging childish timber of his voice. He wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly, knowing he’d give him anything.

“A simple cut of a knife cannot change the fierceness of you. I’ve never known anyone like you. If you lost the ability to sing, or even to speak, I’d still find you remarkable. Your voice is only a fraction of your worth. I’m sorry I haven’t stressed that enough. I only wanted you to find a path to a life that could bring you joy. But if you wanted to stop today, I would not argue.”

Gugli said nothing, just leaned further into the warmth of his broad chest, finally whispering, “Thank you.”

 

**


End file.
